#but the inevitable march of time comes for all of us and you simply cannot be contenders forever if you also want to keep your guys togethe

[sergeifyodorov]

do u have ant thoughts on the pens play style ? i love to hear ur thoughts and the way u break things down :0

i love those old geezers so much okay

so the pens, coming off the three cups/crosbymalkin era, still play with a pretty straightforward forechecking style -- they're up there in hits/game and pretty good with the "first pass" (that pass once regaining possession, from defender to forward, out of the defensive zone.)

their major advantages: sid and geno. like, for real, that's THE number one reason. intangibles are hard to measure, but it's well known that the pittsburgh locker room is a very welcoming environment, one players want to stay in into their old age. which is why everyone in there is a million years old. also, the two of them (plus kris letang!!) have aged as players VERY well into their mid-thirties and are showing pretty much no signs of slowing down or stopping, all three of them almost exactly as effective as playdrivers as they were in the championship years. sid is on pace for nearly 100 points!!! he's 35!!!! that's simply not done.

their major weaknesses: their bottom six is not good, and their goaltending is inconsistent as hell. i think their bottom six has changed up a bit since the deadline and might be better now, but either way it is a very very weak set for a contending team. little goalscoring and negative defensive effect. also, their starting goalie is injured often and their backup is straight up bad.

the penguins: power of love for your captain and city. pros: they love each other :) cons: why is every single one of you thirty years old with two kids

#pittsburgh penguins #asks #this sounds pretty pessimistic tbh but . fire ron hextall that flyer ass sonofabitch #also this team IS the sort of team you get at the end of a Dynasty With A Capital D (what the pens are/were for the past fifteen plus years #very charlotte from pride and prejudice. im 27 years old. ive no money and no prospects #the construction of the modern pgh dynasty is very interesting to me! they got a lot luckier in drafting than any other significant dynasty #(two 1OA in sid and flower plus a 2OA in geno)(and kris a high pick in his own right) #and also managed to create an environment where people WANT to stick around #but the inevitable march of time comes for all of us and you simply cannot be contenders forever if you also want to keep your guys togethe #r #hockey strategy

[justarandompersononthehellsite]

So... @muffinlance wrote a really awesome story. I read a post from a point in time, though I truly do not remember when since it seems like I've been working on this project forever, saying that she gives blanket permission for people to print and bind the story into a book (I think there was an also addendum saying that they do not give permission to be sold, since selling fic is illegal). This fic has had total control over my whole brain since it was sent to me (@creatorofthemind I believe it was you, so thank you forever for tuning me into it) back during the days of like chapter six or seven.

So here I am now, sharing this amazing journey of my first ever bookbinding adventure. Further reading below.

So to give you an idea of what's going on, this is a fanfiction about Zuko (Avatar the Last Airbender) (animated show version, the LA show did not exist yet and we do not speak of the movie) being adopted by Hakoda, Father of Katara and Zuko. (This might have also been what kicked off the Give Zuko A Parent craze, but don't fact check me.)

Overall, the characters from the show stick very well to the cannon versions, but where MuffinLance really shines is in the rich backstories and fleshed out feeling of all the non cannon elements. Especially the background characters. I would argue that the writing in this peice of fanwork could easily rival the cannon show at many points of comparison.

Now that you have context, we can get into the actual process.

To start, I used this guide to figure out where to even begin, and fount the included resource list to also be quite helpful. I cannot for the LIFE OF ME figure out where I found the template I used for the front matter and such, but it must be somewhere and I will link to it when I inevitably come across it again.

Then I began to typeset. This step took... a long time. I worked in chunks from about September of 2022 to late March of 2024. I would get a big section done, sometimes even the entire thing, but then find I hated the way I had done it and give up for months at a time. Such is the life of ADHD and flitting interest in projects I suppose.

And then finally, step one was done, and I was left with pages on a word document that look like this. (And do please let me know if you want the link to the document. It was so much work, and I would love to not be the only one to use it.)

Next step was printing out this beast. Ended up being about eight pages of front matter, and about 630 pages of body text.

That I printed wrong.

Twice.

Before finally getting it right. And then not getting a picture of it, because I finished at 4 am and had work at 7, and am also an idiot.

Then I simply stitched along, putting everything together into a beautiful text block.

And came up with a design for the cover.

Yes the glue did end up lumpy. Ignore it.

Yes I did have to sketch out the design onto a scraped page several times before I figured out what I was doing. Ignore that too.

The cover design does wrap around the entire cover. No I did not get a picture before I glued the thing down. See again: I'm an idiot. And just... massively impatient.

Finally, we get to the stage of gluing. Behold, my bookpress.

Of course, topped with Madam MuffinLances own actual professional-people book, Fox's Tounge and Kirin's Bone. It is Excelent. Here is the LINK so you can go and support this amazing author with the real-monies as well as the internet-kudos.

Then, once everything is glued together, one must give the book its "gilt" edges.

#atla #salvage #bookbinding #fanbinding #muffinlance #I'm a really big fan of this story and the characters ok? #They're really fun and I love them.

[thatlittleegyptologist]

ok so I'm pretty drunk and I sorta have to get this out before my not drunk self bottles it all back up. (and this is heavy so if you are even remotely not prepared to deal with it, please for the love of god do not read it. I'll delete it shortly anyway when I've pulled myself together. This is, in a way, catharsis.)

I'm not fine. I am so far from fine it's not even funny. Honestly I wish people would stop asking because do you think I'm fine??? No.

My mother is dying. A somewhat slow and painful death from cancer. They stopped treatment in March since there was nothing more they could do after nine years. She has a tumour, attached to the main artery in her neck. It's the size of a cantaloupe melon. It used to be the size of a dough ball. Anyway, that's pulling on her heart. It also bleeds and because it's on an artery, it...sprays and if it does that more than once in a 48 hour period she will die. Twice, since June, we've been told she's got hours to live. I know many of you have never had to prepare for the death of a parent, to guard yourself for the inevitable, but it's A Lot. Then, when she pulls through, by a fucking miracle you can't even grasp at the time, you have to recentre yourself and it's so fucking hard. Two weeks ago we were called in to say our goodbyes to her. She was heavily sedated, when we arrived we thought she was already dead. Arterial spray arched on the walls because it'd happened barely 30 minutes earlier and they thought it was better for us to get in there before she went than to clean up. The image haunts me. She's still with us two weeks later, but she's so doped up on meds she's hallucinating. The room smells like antiseptic and various bodily fluids and I will never get that smell out of my mind. That will stay with me until my own death. Some days she's lucid, and on other days she barely knows who we are. I can't sit there and watch her have to be moved by nurses at the hospice because if she moves herself she could have a bleed. I can't stand trying to have a conversation and then losing her to the morphine. I am tired. I am emotionally wrung out. People expect me to be okay and then can't handle it when I say I'm not. It is zero fucking fun to have people promise to be there for you, but as soon as you say it's too hard they fucking flake. Spending every day barely holding on. I've got nothing left in me and yet every few days I come across another person who knows her who isn't aware of what's happening and I have to go through the whole experience of explaining how she won't make it to christmas and I can't do it anymore. I'm emotionally wrung out from trying to be present for the family and then trying to appear semi normal to everyone else. I cannot take another 'she's got hours to live'. It's been three times since June and I simply cannot anymore.

Next week is my parents 40th wedding anniversary and they're holding it this weekend because the doctors are too scared she won't make it to then. I don't even know if I should get a card or whether it'll not be worth it.

I'm tired. I'm done. I simply cannot take anymore 'I'm so sorry this is the hardest thing you'll ever do' because I know and I can't hear it any longer. I want it to go away because maybe I won't fear my phone ringing. Maybe I'll sleep more than three hours a night. Maybe I'll eat properly again. Maybe I'll be able to get through the day without hospice staff, whose entire job this is, feeling pity because even they know that three months of protracted 'it's any day now' is more than most people deal with there.

I am done. I can't do it anymore.

#cancer tw

[tristayranambrosio]

"Time" (Writing Challenge)

(Art by Nastovski YCH https://ych.commishes.com/user/Nastovski/ ) There are those who claim that Time is the enemy. That in its long and vigil forward march all things will expire… the flowers will wilt, the streams will run dry, the stories told… People will grow old, and eventually be not but dust… There is one thing that defies that forward march that rather than grow dull as it goes on instead is richer… Us. Specifically people. Our sheer defiance against this ever forward toll manifests art that will outlive us… legacies left in stories and songs, in great works of art, in the children we raise, in the world we try to make a better place for them when we leave it. Time is no enemy but a law we have no choice but to abide by, and it is that defiance that makes us mortal. That knowledge that there will one day be a time we are not in it… but we know it will march onward, whatever we left behind the only vestige of having ever been at all. There are also those who cannot see but the Time they’ve lost… and the time they have yet to gain… those are the ones I hurt for… because time is what I cherish with those I love… With my Midnight, and our perfect children… Time is what I live to waste with all those who have loved me and those I’ll come to love in the future. There are those who would call it wasted, the idle hours I simply lay awake and linger in bed watching Him sleep wrapped round me like a creeping vine. Those who would call the time I spend awaiting him to look like his best self, better spent being productive. Those who would call the quiet moments where we simply rest in silence in each other’s company, better spent doing something ‘meaningful’ that will outlast the present moment. To those I say I’ll never grow tired of doing nothing with my Muse, I will never feel a moment waiting on him is wasted… because each moment now is spent with him in my life, not one second ticks by where I do not love the anticipation, of his reveal, his return, his manifestation. Were I the one to wind the clocks, and turn the hourglasses… my only wish would be to slow the hands for me to worship each subtlety, but to do so would live each infinite lifetime hanging on the way his ear will flick at my voice… the way he fights a grin when he is teasing me, the way he goes still and shivers when my words strike true and awake his own urge to slow down time and savor me. There will never be enough time… but I will cherish all of it now that He is in my life. I’m no good at these sorts of prompts, and here and there I think that I could better apply my hands to work that will outlast me… but it is an excuse to muse about the One I love, and where there’s love, no time is wasted… and by that Logic, no time spent writing about time, or thinking on it, or simply living through it, is ever wasted. Because whoever is reading this, Yes you, know that you are Loved. I may not know you, you may not know me, but this page and space is something that will outlive us, and if I tell anything to those who may stumble on this so many times removed from mine. Its that they, you, are loved, because Love is the only thing that does not abide by time’s laws. It is why we keep living in the face of an inevitable end. And Love is the avenue always to the beginning that follows.  -Trist

#writing prompt #roleplay #world of warcraft #moon guard #warcraft rp #creative writing #JULYDWC2023 #DWCMINIMODE2023 #wow oc

[thevoidintheeye]

The Diurnal ending is, I think for more people than just me, the most intuitive one. It’s the most human one, for sure – the majesty of the world beyond sacrificed to make our ordinary lives safe and livable. Status quo achieved. It’s making the world of Pathologic – which was alien and bizarre, horrific just as often as beautiful – just like our world. And we live in our world, so if anything, it seems more comforting that the characters should end up in a world we can understand. It feels so nice, to think that after all the horrors, these people can become more than just their pain.

But it’s also part of a larger, rather common story – one of coming of age. This boy left town and came back a man, and the town he finds is not the place of magic and wonder he remembers from his childhood, but a perfectly ordinary human settlement. The strange and the obscure mechanisms that rule ur lives, that once seemed unkonwable, have with time and experience resolved themselves into comprehensible shapes. It’s about growing up, about learning to let go of the wonder and terror of the world seen through the eyes of a child, and it’s about accepting the dry commonality of what was once awe-inspiring and incomprehensible. It hurts, to let go of that magic, but it’s a necessary hurt. To become an adult, you have to let go of being a child.

But then we have the Nocturnal ending, and that is another beast entirely. I find it hard sometimes to find the good in this ending – the plague still roams the streets, and the characters we have spent so much time getting to know, to understand, to even survive to the next day, are largely lost and unmoored. This ending isn’t even for the Kin – for they too are humans, not some manifestation of the earth itself. Why choose this, when it seems so very few people benefit?

Is it you, who simply fear to accept the real world? Is this the ending then, where you, like Peter Pan, cannot stand to grow up and chooses to be a child forever? Turning your eyes away from the inevitable march of adulthood and industrialization, you retreat into fantasy, letting the whole town sink into obscurity? No, I don’t think so.

I think that, in some ways, this may be a more mature ending than the Diurnal one. That ending is about taming the world, making it fit into our anthropocentric model of it. We are so prone to imagine ourselves as the main characters of Earth. We think that the world really is that small, to fit under our microscopes and into our charts and models. We think awe and wonder are things to grow out of. We think that what it means to be an adult is to dominate – to understand the world, for what is knowledge but another way of possessing something; to bend it to our will and make it conform to our wishes. But it’s not.

The Nocturnal ending isn’t for humans – it is for everything. It’s not opposed to humans, but neither will it cater to us. There will be utopia – there will also be plague. Sometimes it will be beautiful, just as often it will be horrific. Humans are an animal, just like any other; no more, no less – and we will need to learn to fit into the fabric of the world as it is, or we will be lost. We need to learn that the world really is bigger than us, that we are simply parts of a larger system, that the world we live in doesn’t exist for our benefit. Nature is not cruel, but neither is it kind. It simply is. And reconciling with that is not necessarily an intuitive thing to do.

#pathologic #pathologic spoilers #pathologic 2 #pathologic 2 meta #honestly I don't know exactly how much of this tracks with the nitty gritty of the lore #I would have to go back and do a real close reading of the endings #and I know I'm procrastinating from writing a paper but I'm not that desperate yet #can you tell we've been studying ecocriticism lately? #apparently the anthropocentrism vs ecocentrism idea's really stuck with me #so i guess education does work on me sometimes #even if I'm only using it for idle meta

[androgynealienfemme]

A few days before the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade last month, a woman who described herself as an anti-abortion activist showed up in the waiting room of Dr. Marissa Lapedis, a family-medicine doctor who performs the procedure in Atlanta.

But she wasn’t there to protest—she had an appointment.

“She talked about being in marches, and said she had spent a lot of time volunteering in crisis pregnancy centers—you know, showing patients the ultrasound image and explaining what happens,” Lapedis, a fellow with the group Physicians for Reproductive Health, told The Daily Beast. “She said she had been anti-abortion her whole life, and that her whole family was like her—and yet she was so appreciative of the care she received from us. She literally was like, ‘I’m so grateful that I’m able to make this choice for myself.’”

Lapedis’ experience is remarkable in part because she resides in a state with a looming ban on the procedure after six weeks—though the law has so far been held up in court.

“You sometimes have anti people who are like, ‘Promise me no one’s going to find out, my boss cannot know,’ [because] they work in the Republican legislature or something. Which has happened—but this patient was so appreciative.”

Abortion providers across the country are reeling from the fall of Roe, and some face the prospect of legal reprisal from law enforcement in their own state or even other states where patients need help. Almost inevitably, they are reflecting on the many patients they’ve seen who came in for a service they claimed to fervently oppose—and in some cases actively protested against.

“All of us who do abortions see patients quite regularly who tell us, ‘I’m not pro-choice, but I just can’t continue this pregnancy,’” said Dr. Sarah Prager, a professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Washington. “We’ve even seen people coming into the clinic off the protester lines to get their abortion, then return to protesting outside the clinic.” And to be clear, she added, “These are not people who turn anti-choice after having an abortion, but who simply access this essential service when they need it in spite of their personal beliefs about abortion in general.”

According to Prager, the phenomenon is so common that abortion providers have a name for it: the Me Exception.

“We in the movement often say people believe abortion should be legal in cases of rape, incest and ‘me,’ meaning whatever reason is relevant for that person,” she said. And yet, she noted, of the many surveys describing how Americans view abortion, virtually none reflect that reality.

“Anti-choice people have no incentive to be honest about whether or not they’ve had an abortion, and we as physicians would never leak a story about a patient,” she continued. Doing so is prohibited under the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, or HIPAA, the federal law that protects confidential health information.

The hypocrisy of the right is always immensely wild to read about. Of course women on the right get abortions. Of course pro life activist women get abortions.

1. Because it’s a healthcare need that any person who can get pregnant may need for health reasons, but also:

2. Because it’s fine for them but not for anyone else. Because they have a real reason unlike those other women. God will forgive them, but no one else can be forgiven. They are Good and the rest of us are Bad. So therefore their abortion is Good and for the rest of us it’s a Bad Abortion that must be Prevented.

Conservatives will allow themselves and each other and us to die for their batshit morals and yet they will continue to do whatever the fuck they want behind closed doors. Whether it’s something harmless like having gay lovers, or something horrific like abusing their families or children. Whether it’s using drugs, having premarital sex or getting abortions, they will always do it behind the scenes and forgive themselves for it.

It’s the rest of us that must be controlled tho. Not them, they get to have the control.

Anyways once again banning abortion will not prevent abortion, only make it more dangerous for those of us that will need one. And being pro life will not mean you won’t need an abortion eventually. Because it’s a form of healthcare that a pregnant person may need if they cannot or do not want to continue their pregnancy. It will always be needed so long as pregnancy has health risks, contraceptives fail, and assault occurs.

#news #politics #reproductive rights #feminism #prochoice #pro life

[troger]

The Women Who Leave Anti-Abortion Picket Lines to Get Abortions

snatched from behind paywall, sry format 🤷‍♀️

Patrick Adams

Updated Jul. 03, 2022 4:31AM ET Published Jul. 02, 2022 11:14PM ET

A few days before the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade last month, a woman who described herself as an anti-abortion activist showed up in the waiting room of Dr. Marissa Lapedis, a family-medicine doctor who performs the procedure in Atlanta.

But she wasn’t there to protest—she had an appointment.

“She talked about being in marches, and said she had spent a lot of time volunteering in crisis pregnancy centers—you know, showing patients the ultrasound image and explaining what happens,” Lapedis, a fellow with the group Physicians for Reproductive Health, told The Daily Beast. “She said she had been anti-abortion her whole life, and that her whole family was like her—and yet she was so appreciative of the care she received from us. She literally was like, ‘I’m so grateful that I’m able to make this choice for myself.’”

Lapedis’ experience is remarkable in part because she resides in a state with a looming ban on the procedure after six weeks—though the law has so far been held up in court.

“You sometimes have anti people who are like, ‘Promise me no one’s going to find out, my boss cannot know,’ [because] they work in the Republican legislature or something. Which has happened—but this patient was so appreciative.”

Abortion providers across the country are reeling from the fall of Roe, and some face the prospect of legal reprisal from law enforcement in their own state or even other states where patients need help. Almost inevitably, they are reflecting on the many patients they’ve seen who came in for a service they claimed to fervently oppose—and in some cases actively protested against.

“All of us who do abortions see patients quite regularly who tell us, ‘I’m not pro-choice, but I just can’t continue this pregnancy,’” said Dr. Sarah Prager, a professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Washington. “We’ve even seen people coming into the clinic off the protester lines to get their abortion, then return to protesting outside the clinic.” And to be clear, she added, “These are not people who turn anti-choice after having an abortion, but who simply access this essential service when they need it in spite of their personal beliefs about abortion in general.”

According to Prager, the phenomenon is so common that abortion providers have a name for it: the Me Exception.

“We in the movement often say people believe abortion should be legal in cases of rape, incest and ‘me,’ meaning whatever reason is relevant for that person,” she said. And yet, she noted, of the many surveys describing how Americans view abortion, virtually none reflect that reality.

“Anti-choice people have no incentive to be honest about whether or not they’ve had an abortion, and we as physicians would never leak a story about a patient,” she continued. Doing so is prohibited under the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, or HIPAA, the federal law that protects confidential health information.

Still, health professionals are permitted to discuss cases in general terms, and when asked about patients with anti-choice views this past week, abortion providers had no shortage of sometimes incredible tales about activists deeming themselves an exception to the rule.

Dr. Portia Jones, a family-medicine physician in Washington, recalled the time a woman “whose sister-in-law was the president of a big right-to-life organization” had asked to be “snuck in the back door” of the clinic where she was working in Philadelphia. Then there was “the picketer who brought her daughter in for a procedure and was back on the picket line the next week,” she recalled. On another occasion, a woman came in “and declared to a full waiting room that they were all sinners and should leave immediately,” she said.

“When I drew her aside, I found out she was there for an abortion, too,” Jones told The Daily Beast.

Jones and other abortion providers attributed many such instances to a sense of exceptionalism on the part of patients who decide their situation entitles them to do what they believe other women should—legally—be unable to. “I’ve done a lot of options counseling with patients who had to do some pretty creative moral jujitsu to justify their behavior to themselves,” she added. “But our role is to give people information, to create a space for them where they can make decisions, and to support them in that process.”

While 13 states with so-called trigger laws are poised to be the first to effectively prohibit almost all abortions, roughly two dozen states in total have laws on the books that could be used to sharply restrict the procedure, according to an analysis by the Guttmacher Institute, a research organization that supports abortion rights. The laws are, of course, the product of decades of far-right organizing against reproductive rights, with actions ranging from peaceful protest to the election of anti-choice officials to violent attacks.

But providers said the hypocrisy among the rank and file powering the so-called pro-life movement was glaring.

“I’d say about a third of my patients would reveal in their counseling or during the procedure, you know, ‘I want you to know I’m pro-life, but you understand why this has to be,’” said Dr. Nicholas Gideonse, recalling his work as an abortion provider in rural Oregon. “I think in almost all of those cases, they were making that choice in order to be the best parent that they could be.”

There were certainly those pro-life patients who “stridently insisted that their circumstances were particular and special,” Gideonse added. But there were cases, too, of pro-life patients who came to him seeking compassion.

“I’m remembering a soft-spoken younger woman who felt that I, because I had delivered her other unplanned pregnancy, understood how pro-life she really was and that for this reason I was the person who could perform the procedure she needed now,” he said.

Rather than a one-off, stories about anti-choice activists literally coming off the protest line to seek care were rife. That phenomenon may fade in states where clinics are shutting in the face of legal threats, but providers were confident hardcore activists will continue to seek their care.

Several years ago, Dr. Meera Shah, chief medical officer of Planned Parenthood Hudson Peconic in New York, provided abortion care to one of the protesters regularly outside of her clinic.

“I treated her with compassion and kindness just like I do everyone, knowing that people come to us with their own lived experiences,” she said. “I don’t know what this person was exposed to, or what her community is like—it may be unsafe for folks to express an alternative view [about] abortion in their communities or their families. But I do know that nobody anticipates this. Nobody thinks they’re going to be in that situation. You can have these fixed beliefs around something that you think will never impact you, and then when you’re in the moment, your thoughts around it can change, and that’s very much the case with abortion. We see it all the time.”

In her book, You’re the Only One I’ve Ever Told, Shah explored the everyday reality of abortion care that mainstream political dialogue mostly fails to capture.

“I think that the anti-abortion movement comes at it with very strong preconceived notions,” she said. “Their lived experience has taught them that abortion is bad, so they just run with that. But what they fail to do is keep an open mind and express empathy for those who are going through it. And that’s what got us here.”

[prairieorchid]

Changes

I finally got around to changing over my closet from my winter wardrobe to my summer wardrobe today.  Yes, it is late in the season to be doing so., even for me.  Then again, we have had a really crappy spring, weather-wise and I have been extremely busy.

Typically, I change my wardrobe over in mid to late April and again in late October.  I do always keep some transitional pieces in the back of the closet to help me through the unpredictable weather that usually seems to accompany spring and fall in my part of the world.

I am the first to admit that I have accumulated far too many clothes over the years, and I do use the change-over time as an opportunity to purge some items.  Nonetheless, I still have far too many clothes.  There are many items I cannot bear to part with, and of course, we all like to tell ourselves that we will lost the weight, or certain things will be fashionable again.  (Truth be told, the fashion part is not a big part of it for me, as I have always had a tendency to purchase items more on the classic side anyway, but I would be lying if I said that I never made any bad fashion choices.)

I never put out the full amount of current season's clothing that I actually possess, which should drive home to you just how much purging I actually should do.  At most, about half of my current season's wardrobe comes out of storage.

Today, for the first time in several years, I was glad that I did tell myself to hold on to items I should not have.  Over the winter, I lost about 20 pounds.  It was not intentional, even though I did need to lose the weight.  I did start a regular exercise routine over the winter.   I don't think my diet changed all that much, but I was dealing with a lot of stress, which may have contributed to the weight loss.

The loss only really became apparent to me about two months ago. I was not going out much over the past six months or so, and most days, I simply wore sweaters and leggings.   Jeans I was wearing suddenly felt too loose.  A pair of jeans I had hung in my closet "just in case" I lost weight, suddenly were even a little on the loose side.  

I resisted the urge to purchase new clothing because I knew I would be changing over my wardrobe soon, and I really did not need any more clothing.  It was actually a bit exciting today to pull out clothing I have not been able to wear for about five years because of my weight gain (can I blame menopause?), and find that they now fit again.

I always do get a little bit excited anyway when I change my wardrobe.  Even without purchasing anything new, I feel like the start of the season is equivalent to having a whole new set of clothes to wear.  By March and September, I admit I get bored with my clothing options, so anything different is good.

In a lot of ways, I feel that way about spring and fall in general.  They seem like a chance to renew - whether it is in terms of the clothes I wear, the foods I eat, or the activities I pursue.  The change from warmth to cool, and vice versa, offers an opportunity for a new beginning, and new approaches.

In case you are interested, although I did some purging again today, I did not get rid of all of my "fat" clothing.  Like the seasons, change is inevitable, and I do not doubt that I will need those items again.

#changes spring newbeginnings

[outcasts-redeemer]

Salem stepped in front of the camera, her face emotionless, eyes dark and empty. For untold millennia she had played Ozma’s game. Now she played her own. With no prompt or cue she spoke, her words echoing through every radio, every scroll, every television and hologram projector in Remanent to every soul of every living being.

“Rudimentary creatures of blood, and flesh, you touch my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding.”

In the fleeing air flotilla of Atlas’s Air Guard Atlas and Mantle civilians huddled together in terror

“There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own. You cannot even imagine it. I am beyond your comprehension. I, am Salem.”

Among the seas fleeing south from the Atlastian coasts cargo ships, fishing boats and tug boats holding even more civilians and military refugees listened with eyes trained on the shrinking lands of snow that once was their home.

“Grimm, a label created by your ancestors to give voice to their destruction. In the end, what they choose to call me is irrelevant. I simply, am.”

In Vale the city was silent as every eye was trained upon their scrolls or on their TVs, grim determination and resolve filling their hearts with every word spoken.

“Life is nothing but a genetic mutation, an accident. Your lives are measured in years, and decades, you wither and die.”

The tens of thousands of Atlas and Mantle civilians huddled together among the streets watching as the one who took their homes and killed their people gloated, their hearts numb to anything but the feeling of loss

“I am eternal, the pinnacle of evolution, and existence. Before me, you are nothing, your extinction is inevitable.  I am the end of everything.”

Jaune stood with the remains of his friends as well as Glynda Winter and the Vale Council, silent as the one who was responsible for taking taking his friends and destroying Atlas and Mantle kept yammering on.

“Confidence born of ignorance, the activation of the Relics cannot be stopped.”

In Argus soldiers and militia alike formed ranks upon their wall as a near endless tied of Grimm steadily marched towards the city.

“The journey has taken longer than you can fathom. Civilizations rise, evolve, advance and at the apex of their glory, they are extinguished.”

In Vacuo Mercury and Tyrian watched transfixed as Salem fully relieved herself to the world, each having their own innermost reactions to the reveling of her master plan.

“Your ancestors were not the first. They did not create the Kingdoms. They did not forge the great highways. They merely found them, the legacy of my kind.”

On the island of Patch Taiyang sat glued to his seat watching as the witch that scared his first wife into hiding and took his second from him spoke.

“Your civilization is based on the remnants of magic, our life force. By using it, your society develops along the paths I control.  I impose order on the chaos of willful life. You exist because I allow it, and you will end because I demand it.”

At the broken section of the Southern Wall Cardin and his team stood ready to help repel any further Grimm attacks, their hearts closed off to the horror of Salem.

“I have no beginning, I have no end, I, am infinite. Millions of years after your civilization has been eradicated and forgotten, I will endure.”

In Mistral Kali and Ghira watched in horror as Salem spoke, her voice emotionless and calm despite basically declaring war on all of them.

“My Children transcends your very understanding.  They are, each a people, independent, free of all weakness. You cannot even grasp the nature of their and mine existence.”

In some random back ally way of Msirtal’s lower districts civilians and urchins alike huddled together for warmth, trying to fight back the chill of their coming doom.

“They are legion and I their queen. The time of our attack is coming. Our numbers will darken the sky of every nation and people. You cannot escape your doom.”

In Menagerie thousands of faunas packed the main square listening to the broadcast with terror gripping their hearts, knowing that some of their numbers were responsible for Salem’s coming.

“Your resistance is as empty as your future. I am the vanguard of your destruction. This exchange is over.”

All at once every radio, scroll, television and hologram projector turned black, the broadcast over, the message sent. War had come.

#RWBY #rwby rewrite #Salem #Jaune Arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #Oscar Pine #Ozpin #ozma #ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #Blake Belladonna #winter schnee #Glynda Goodwitch #taiyang xiao long #ghira belladonna #kali belladonna #cardin winchester #Soldiers of Atlas #Soldiers of Mantle #Soldiers of Vale #Mistrial citizenry #Vale citizenry #Atlas and Mantle citizenry #Remnants #Mass effect #parody #Sovereign's speech #Scene tidbit

[whenimaunicorn]

“Fight Me” - Ragnar the Younger x Eivor Wolf-Kissed (female)

Content Warnings: Explicit smut, fighting as foreplay, to the point where it resembles consensual noncon roleplay. Face slapping/striking, rough sex, exhibitionism, negotiating on the fly. Don’t like, don’t read, and I’m not interested in hearing if you think Eivor is OOC to your headcanons. These are mine.

Notes: I am maybe halfway through my playthrough of Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, and I haven’t found anyone I want to ship my female Eivor with yet. So, I did a thing with my favorite Last Kingdom hunk. You can easily imagine that one of her missions was to get involved with the Danes’ gathering in Young Ragnar’s stronghold (season 3) since the setting and time period is exactly the same in both game and show! I suppose Brida doesn’t exist in this fic; I didn’t find a useful way to write her in or out of this scene (although I’m sure Eivor would love to take her to bed too!)

Ragnar the Younger finishes a long pull of ale and sets his cup down with a flourish. Then he eyes the woman beside him. “Fight me.”

Eivor merely cocks a brow, regarding him over the rim of her own mug. “You have offered me no insult, Earl Ragnar. Why would I fight you?”

The big blonde leans in, his eyes swimming with mischief even as they seem to cut through to the core of her. “You are restless, Eivor Wolf-Kissed. I see a need in you, to feel your blood sing.” His charming gaze lingers on her an extra moment before he continues to speak. “You grow frustrated with the delay, how long I want to wait before marching on the Saxons.”

Her lip twists. “It is too late to talk strategy tonight. Let’s not ruin the merriment.” The talks had lasted for days; to Eivor they had seemed endless. But tonight the ale had been just as endless, and most of the Danes are now passed out around Ragnar’s hall. Or retreated in pairs to the darker corners, for more private diversions.

“No more talk,” Ragnar agrees. “Let me give you a bit of what you are craving.” He stands, wide and imposing. “Fight me. Just a friendly brawl.”

Eivor grins and kicks her chair back as she rises.

Only a few of Ragnar’s warriors, as well as a handful of others from the gathered forces of Northmen, show any interest, though they do clear a space for them. Although they are famous warriors, the two combatants are not exactly the center of attention in the hall; it’s late enough that most of the revelers are too far gone to notice what is happening.

Ragnar lifts the axe from its place at his belt and tosses it on the table. Eivor follows suit, although it takes her considerably longer to unstrap the blade at her wrist and the other sharp edges she keeps at the ready, hidden all around her person. Ragnar’s brows climb as he watches her produce them all, and she thinks he might be impressed.

She’s only recently met the young Earl, but Eivor has the impression of a good-hearted man who will be an absolute bear in a fight. Perhaps too good-hearted to lead a bloodthirsty people, given his reluctance to turn on his Saxon neighbors, but there is steel within his bones. Eivor admits that she would love to test it.

They enter their makeshift square, and contrary to her expectation Ragnar is upon her immediately. He grasps her at shoulder and waist, hooking her leg for a takedown which she is only barely able to twist away from. Straight to grappling, then. She doesn’t really mind. Eivor has never been afraid to take a punch, but Ragnar the Younger is a whole head taller than her with the muscle mass to match, and if they started this bout by trading blows she’d likely have been black and blue all over in the morning.

While she evades his attempt to trip her, she can’t quite dislodge herself from his arms, and so she’s down to twisting and turning inside his grip, trying to gain the advantage. Her muscles heat, jaw clenching into a ferocious smile as she thrills in the effort and the challenge. Ragnar was right; this was exactly what she has been craving.

And it’s not just about the combat, although she lives to best those warriors that dare to underestimate her. She shifts her hips, letting her center of balance slip just enough to lead Ragnar to believe that he’s gaining the upper hand. When he pushes her into a takedown she turns his leverage against him and rides him to the floor.

Cheers and jeers of the drunks watching them with varying levels of interest ring in her ears as Eivor clenches her thighs around Ragnar’s broad waist. He’s a handsome one, and she likes them big and not too stupid. But it’s hard for Eivor to find someone she truly wants to take to bed. She is a consummate warrior, skilled enough to best just about any challenger, and yet she only feels aroused by a man that she cannot beat.

Will Ragnar turn out to be that man? He’s grinning up at her from the floor, looking as ferocious as she feels, and when she loses grip on one of his hands he cuffs her across the face.

She reels from it, more than she should. It’s not that he hit her so hard—it’s the way her body reacts. Heat of an entirely different sort burns between her thighs, ignited by the adrenaline, and the coiled power of his arm. The disorientation of her animal reaction gives him the opening he needs to drive himself up and force her to the ground beneath him.

She doesn’t go without a fight, of course, but the heat of the struggle is only feeding her awakened lust now. That she-beast within her does not want to make it easy for him, but she’s craving his victory too, wants to feel her strength repelled and her thighs forced apart by his knees.

She arches her back beneath him. She considers hiding her feelings, given that at least some of the men are still watching, and it burns her pride to think that anyone would know that Earl Ragnar had won her in this way. But even that potential humiliation twists her insides with some undeniable appeal of its own. She won’t stop herself on account of the watchers.

She knows the heat has entered her eyes by the way that Ragnar’s darken, as he looms above her and holds her arms down at either side of her head. “Is there, perhaps, another craving I can satisfy for you tonight, Eivor?” he croons.

She lets a wolf-smile grace her lips. “I am considering it.”

He releases her hands, leaning in to kiss her, perhaps, but this isn’t how Eivor wants it to happen and so she uses the opening to push him off her and regain the upper hand. She strikes him and Ragnar’s eyes burn and she can see now how much he wants her too. “What will sway your decision?” he asks, breathless with their struggle.

Eivor leans down, and purrs into his ear: “Whether you can take it from me.”

They struggle like their very lives depend on it, after that. Ragnar crushes his weight against her but now he’s trying to achieve something much more difficult than a simple pin. He has to get one of his hands free to loosen her clothing, or his own, and every time he gets both her arms pinned at once he can’t keep her there for more than a few seconds. He growls his frustration, and she bites his neck in some primal combination of denial and encouragement.

With his shoulder pressed into her chest, grinding her to the floor below his considerable weight, he manages to get one hand shoved inside her pants. The greedy press of his seeking fingers should be uncomfortable in such a sensitive place, but he finds her so wet that he slides easily there, until two of his fingers are buried inside her.

She cries out between clenched teeth and arcs her body to the angle that makes those fingers feel most satisfying. But as soon as he shifts to an angle that’s not completely holding her down, she slips away.

Pulse pounding, she stares at him, eyes wild as she catches her breath. Her entire core is burning for him, but she won’t give up this game.

Ragnar’s gaze thickens with satisfaction. “I won’t do this to you in front of my men,” he says, “but I will finish this, exactly how you want it, if you come to my bedchamber, Eivor.”

“Better catch me,” she snarls with glee, and springs to her feet to sprint in that direction.

He overtakes her at the door. She gets only the vague impression of a big bed covered in furs before his body hits her from behind and she’s thrown on top of it. He holds her down with her face in a bearskin as he tears at her waistband, pulling it down over the curve of her ass.

There’s not much struggling she can do from this position; he doesn’t have to control her arms at all if he can keep her chest pinned down tight. He does so first with his arm, then with his chest as she feels him struggling with his own belt. She throws her hips up savagely, not to win anymore, but simply to feel herself fighting in the face of the inevitable. Her entire body is burning for this, to be bested, to be fucked only by the fittest and the strongest of warriors.

His grunting changes, and she knows he’s gotten his cock loose. She wonders what the shape of it is, if she’ll spend time exploring it with hand and tongue some time after this. She’s not opposed to gentler lovemaking after a partner has proven himself, like Ragnar is doing now.

She writhes beneath him, ready for him to get on with it. She feels the cool air on her ass and she’s aching for him. His fingers swipe her roughly, leaving a trail of spit to make sure he’ll go in easy. She’s about to growl a protest; she’s not fragile, and she likes the pain, but then the blunt head of him is pressing against her entrance and she knows why he’s in that habit.

His cock is wide. The pressure is intense as he centers his weight and pushes his way inside. Eivor keens at the perfect mix of pleasure and pain she feels as he makes his claim. Inch by inch, he stretches her, taking what he wants just as she bid him, and when he bottoms out he groans low in her ear.

“Are you still going to fight me?” he challenges, and in response she throws her hips back up against him. He hits her cervix and she squeals between her teeth but she does it again, then Ragnar is roaring and driving himself into her as hard as he wants. He stops crushing her against the bed in favor of gripping her hips with both hands, and Eivor rises up for better leverage to meet his savage thrusts.

He’s impossibly deep. They sweat and grunt together and Ragnar is relentless, hollowing her out with the massive force of his need. She feels her body clench and shimmer around him, and Eivor’s eyes widen. No man has ever brought her to the brink like this so fast . . . but rarely has a man met her passion with such confidence, and endurance, either. She drops her face to the furs, overwhelmed by the rushing pleasure flooding her core, the steady stroking of his cock spurring her on to a shuddering, bellowing release that she tries to muffle in the bedding.

He slows down when she stops screaming. Although his cock has stretched her, she feels more loss than relief when he pulls himself out and releases his grip. She’s panting, balanced on her knees and elbows, and turns as she hears Ragnar pulling off the rest of his clothes behind her. Aside from breeches pushed down to her knees, Eivor herself is still fully clothed.

Her eyes land on the gorgeous cock sticking proudly up into the air, a massive, glistening thing weeping with a thicker milkiness at the tip. “You didn’t—” she asks dumbly.

Ragnar smiles, a thick, arrogant thing. “Wouldn’t want this to be over too quickly.” He strokes a big hand idly over himself. “Thought I’d give you a moment to catch your breath. And I’m hoping that took some of the fight out of you. I want my woman to fall to pieces more than once before I take my pleasure, and I need you to hold still for the next few things I want to do.”

TLK taglist: @ceridwenofwales​ @oddsnendsfanfics​@laketaj24​ @thewildbeauty @geekandbooknerd​ @therealcalicali​ @tiyetiye​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​@goldentailedmermaids​ @sifshoney​ @titty-teetee​  @savismith​ @ariellostatci​ @perfectus-in-morte​ @axiseeu12 @kingofshadowalkers @glitta-killa​ @just-random-obsessions​ @volvaaslaug​

Specific thirst list: @fearlessindigo​ @artemiseamoon​ @naps4bats​ @evelyn-shelby​ @autumn--the--season​​

#ragnar the younger #young ragnar imagine #eivor smut #the last kingdom fanfic

[stardusttandstories]

“Don’t go to Hill Top Road again.” aka Lines That Already Hit Different In Hindsight That I’m Sure Will Destroy Me Tomorrow

(mostly under the cut because i decided to relisten to all the web statements to prime myself for whatever pain jonny has in store for tomorrow

“Can you be haunted by the ghost of a spider that destroyed your childhood?” 

- Arachnophobia

“I was returning to Hill Top Road, no matter what I might feel about it. Choice didn’t even come into it. The door was unlocked when I returned, and the house was quiet. My eyes darted around, looking for anyone who might be able to tell me what was going on, why the fine threads that pulled me through my life had dragged me back here. But I was alone.”

 - Recluse

“The first of the dark powers to touch me, perhaps, but it did not claim me.” 

- A Guest For Mr. Spider

“The feeling I have been living with my whole life, that if that poor idiot hadn’t gotten involved he would still be alive. A strange conviction that, if I had been able to face that thing myself, maybe I could have saved him. Stopped it.” 

- A Guest For Mr. Spider

“What struck him about it, though, was the utter absence of anything resembling a hero or protagonist. No one fought against the monster. And although there were vignettes in the lives of those under the spider’s shadow, they all ended the exact same way: with the character in question marching slowly and calmly into its waiting jaws.” 

- Creature Feature

“But you know better than anyone how the spiders can get into your head. Easier to just do what she asks.” 

- Far Away

“He wouldn’t be breaking any contract, and the client hardly ever even gets in touch. There is no reason he couldn’t just walk away, but I honestly don’t think he ever will. And I really don’t know how it’s going to end for him.”

 - Web Development

“I resisted for some time, but I’m done now. She’s won. And I’d - very much like to go home.” 

- The Puppeteer

“I’m stronger now, tougher, I can - If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever? I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else, so if I can maybe - stop that happening, and the only danger is to me, I - I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario, the universe loses another monster.” 

- The Puppeteer

“[…] a string pulled by the Ceaseless Watcher or the Mother of Puppets? Or both?” 

- Weaver

“But by then you’re away; the roller coaster is dropping, and you’ve no real choice but to hold on and hope that – I don’t crash you.” 

- Weaver

“I’ve simply been… watching. I’m sure you understand that. Maybe I’ve occasionally been nudging something here and there to keep you safe, to keep everything on track. But I know you’ve been more worried about your choices, about whether you’re being controlled by me, or by the Mother. So I thought perhaps I should leave a little something to reassure you that, yes, your actions and choices have all been your own. […] if you choose to believe in a free will, then yes: All you have done has been of your own free will. They have all been your choices.”

 - Weaver

“I will simply say that – when a spider reaches a certain size, it is often not entirely made up of spider anymore.”

 - Weaver

“…if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Web, it’s that it plays its own game. All you can really do is hope it doesn’t get in the way of whatever your plan is. Because the Spider usually wins.” 

- Extended Surveillance

“And certainly the Spider smoothed things, elided questions, wiped away evidence, but it barely had to. Far better to feed Gertrude a steady string of plans to foil and rituals to derail.” 

- Curiosity

“W-Without trust. W-Without a reason. Gertrude needed both the purpose her mission gave her and the control her position allowed. To be here, like us, without a – a reason, without someone to ground her? She – She’d have power, but – no control. No real purpose. Perhaps she’d have dedicated herself to a d-doomed quest like us but – (quieter, contemplative) No. I think this would have broken her. And she’d have resigned herself to – ruling her domain.” 

- Curiosity

“THE SPIDER, offstage: “Then walk away, Francis, just turn and leave. All that is required is a little bit of willpower. You have a little bit of willpower, don’t you?” […] FRANCIS simply screams in response. It is a scream of anger as much as it is of pain, and it cannot hide the dreadful inevitability they feel. The dull terror that this act will end like all the others.”

 - Strung Out

“There is no escape to be found here, no respite from the charade that is now found to be the sum of FRANCIS’s existence. By now, FRANCIS knows with utter clarity what falling to the call will bring, the awful crawling fate that they will endure before the next act eventually begins.”

- Strung Out

Shoutout and thank you to @tmatranscripts because there was no way I could type fast enough to note these as i listened but copy paste is a wonderful thing! 

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #the web #catch me vibrating with excitement and fear

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Skinship

This one is dedicated to my dear friend and fellow TWST writer, @twstpasta! 

Congrats on making it to 3k followers and for making the grand debut of your new blog mascot~ I look forward to seeing your future works, as well as all of the (inevitable) Vil brain rot once your EBG (Extreme Bias Game) is over!

Imagine this...

“Unacceptable.”

“Eh?”

“Your skin,” Vil clarified. “It is simply unacceptable. You don’t truly intend on marching to the opening ceremony looking like that, do you?”

“My...skin?” Your hands subconsciously trailed to your cheeks. “What’s wrong with--”

He cut you off, his pupils dilating in absolute horror. “No...!! Don’t touch your face! Your hands are breeding grounds for all manner of nasty bacteria!”

Your hand jolted away at Vil’s remark. He sighed in relief--but the repose is short-lived.

“You haven’t even properly buffed out the sunscreen along your hairline. See to it that you wash your hands and blend it in. Now.”

“Ah, I must have gotten some grated parmesan on me while I was making my mac ‘n cheese for lunch,” you explained, your expression sheepish. “I only put sunscreen on when I work out, Vil-senpai.”

“Excuse me?!” He brought a finger to his chin and frowned. “I don’t know whether I should be more appalled at the fact that you somehow got cheese in your hair or at the fact that you scarcely wear sun protection...What, if I may ask, does your typical skincare routine look like?”

“I splash water on my face once in the morning and once at night. And I already told you about the sunscreen when I exercise.”

“...That is all?”

“Yup.”

Vil cradled his head in his hands.

“...Sit.”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” You seated yourself on a sofa and glanced up at your senpai. “But won’t we be late for the ceremony if we wait around for too long?”

“It will only take a few minutes,” Vil insisted with a dismissive wave. “I will be right back.”

The Pomefiore dorm leader swept out of the room, his dark sleeves billowing out behind him. The intricate golden designs on his robes seem to twinkle and dance under the lights.

He soon reappeared with a tray--upon it, a few towels, several small bowls of water, and an assortment of containers. Vil sat down beside you, placing the tray on a low coffee table.

“We can’t have you going out looking a mess,” he declared, “so I shall be giving you a quick facial.”

“Whoa, really? Thank you so much for this, senpai.”

“Don’t thank me yet. The magic has yet to start.”

He took a pump of soap, working it into a rich lather, then dipped his hands into a bowl of water and patted dry with a towel. Vil dispensed a viscous substance from another bottle and swiped it on your face--from your chin to your forehead, massaging in circles.

“What’s this slick stuff? Moisturizer?”

“It’s an oil-based cleanser,” Vil corrected, “Listen well, potato. There are three essential steps to every skincare routine--the first is cleansing.”

“But I’ve already washed my face today.”

“We need to break down your sunscreen first before we apply more product,” Vil chided, wetting his hands again before running them across your cheeks. “Next is a water-based cleanser.”

He popped open a tube and squeezed out a coin-sized amount. Rubbing his hands together produced fine suds.

“You’re washing my face again?” you asked, giggling while Vil worked the product onto your face. The lather tickled a bit—and it smelled like a field full of raspberries, bright and bursting with sunshine.

“Skin has both fat and water. Therefore, you should wash once with an oil to bind to oils, and water to bind to water—this will give you a thorough cleanse.”

Vil’s words were stern, but his touch remained gentle. Even as he chastised you, you could not help but indulge in the moment, melting in his voice—rich and velvety and decadent.

Hehe...like mac ‘n cheese...

You could feel a trickle of drool forming in the corner of your mouth.

“...45 to 60 seconds washing with each cleanser,” Vil recited in a murmur. “Upward and outward circular motions to promote lymphatic drainage, and to keep the skin from sagging. Be sure to exfoliate at least once a week...Are you listening to a word of what I’m saying, potato?”

“Huh? Uh...yeah, yeah, I’m listening.”

“Hmmm.”

“I-I swear I am!”

“Pop quiz, then. How many steps are there in a basic skincare routine?”

“Three! Four if you count washing twice!”

Vil cracked a small smile. “Excellent. I expected nothing less from you.”

He moistened his hands again and removed the bubbles on your face . Then Vil patted you down with a towel, leaving your skin just a bit damp.

“The next step is moisturizer. Normally, I would have you apply a toner, essence, and serum first, but we do not have the time for that.”

Vil unscrewed the cap on a tall, frosted glass bottle. The contents were pure white, sloshing around like melted snow

“Isn’t moisturizer usually like...lotions and stuff? That doesn’t look like a lotion to me.”

“This is a 2-in-1 toner and moisturizer. Cream skin,” he explained, carefully pressing the product onto cheeks and forehead.

Ah.

His fingers. They were so plush, so soft through the thin slip of the product—like clouds brushing against your face, planting dew drop kisses.

Your eyes drifted shut for a few moments, relishing in the feel of him.

“And, last but not least, sunscreen. You must always wear sun protection, even in winter and on cloudy days. UV rays can wreak havoc on your skin.”

“Y-Yes!”

Vil sighed, squeezing a generous heap of white goop into his palms. “If you understand, then you must promise me that you will take better care of yourself in the future.”

“I promise...”

“Good.”

His hands ran across your face, tracing every contour and curvature until each spot was slathered with sunscreen. Vil was the artist, and you were his canvas to be molded into a work of art.

A sweep here, a dab there, and...

Done.

Vil held your face, cupped within his hands, and gazed upon his work. His lips pulled into mirthful smirk—and his eyes glittered like amethysts embedded with stars.

He was so close--yet you cannot make out even a single pore or imperfection on his milky face. Your heart hammered from his intense gaze, and how his pink lips--today, the color of raspberries--were parted just so. How soft they must be, if he takes such good care of his skin.

“D-Do I look better now?” you asked nervously.

“See for yourself.”

Vil passed over a handheld mirror.

In the glass, a familiar, yet unfamiliar, face stared back at you. Your reflection bore a plump complexation—all rosy cheeks and supple skin. No white cast, no oily sheen, no flaky patches, no rough texture.

It almost doesn’t seem like yourself.

“Well?” Vil inquired, his arms folded.

“It’s me, but like...way better. It’s like you cast a spell or something.”

You cautiously poked your cheek. It conformed, then bounced back.

“No touching!” Vil hissed, yanking your wrist back with a frown.

“Whoops...ehehe, sorry. I forgot.”

“Honestly,” he groaned, reaching out and grasping your other wrist, “if you are going to disregard my advice so blatantly...”

Vil flashed his pearly whites in a sly smile.  “ ...then perhaps I should keep a firm grip on these traitorous hands of yours until further notice.”

He lifted the back of your hand to his mouth and planted a kiss. His lips were every bit as tender and smooth as you had imagined them to be.

A single thought emerged from the back of your mind: just what would those lip of his taste like, set upon your own?

You reddened.

“That color is most becoming on you, potato,” Vil chuckled, pulling back. His grip on your hand remained firm, yet somehow also delicate--as though handling a precious gem.

“Come. We cannot afford to dawdle any longer. The ceremony awaits us.”

Hand in hand, you venture out into the world--

--putting you best face forward.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Vil Schoenheit #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #disney twisted wonderland #Reader #self insert #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #imagine this #bulli

[thevibraniumveterans]

“Farewell”

Originally written in Chinese by user leaf52 on AO3

=

[Summary: Loki uses the TemPad to travel back in time to before the events of Thor: The Dark World because he never got to say goodbye to his mother.]

=

When Loki steps through the Time Door, the splendorous golden constructs from his memories come into full view. He doesn’t know if what he’s seeing is too dazzlingly bright, or if he’s feeling rather emotional, but if it’s all the same to him, he squints a little.

He has returned to Asgard, the one place where he has spent several thousand years living. This is the first time he has journeyed back here ever since he fell from the Rainbow Bridge - but he cannot stay long.

He takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart, and with hesitancy no longer present in his eyes, he starts off through the familiar winding corridors.

-

After avoiding palace guards and other people, Loki arrives at his destination in short order. Passing through the warm and ornate Crystal Palace, he enters a garden. The overwhelming fragrance that come from the flowers there is a near assault on his senses, and he can see that the various plants have all overgrown despite the best care being given to them. He pays the garden itself no mind, for it is his adoptive mother Queen Frigga who first comes into view in all her royal elegance. Tears start welling up to Loki’s eyes, and though he opens his mouth to say something, he is unable to make a sound.

Perhaps it is because she hears something that Frigga turns around, and when she does so, her eyes widen in surprise at seeing Loki. She unconsciously takes a step backward, but after just a second, a warm smile blossoms on Queen Frigga’s face. It is the same smile Loki remembers from his youth.

He can do nothing but stare blankly; when he blinks, however, his tears break free and roll down his face. Loki immediately wipes away his tears in one careless motion, but not even that is enough.

“Loki, my beloved son, what’s wrong?” Frigga walks toward him, worry on her face, concern in her voice. Loki nearly collapses under the weight of his emotions and his adoptive mother’s unending love for him.

“Mother…” Loki calls out, his voice broken by grief and regret. In an attempt to rein in his emotions, he closes his mouth. No, he cannot let his sadness make him crumble to the floor, not in front of his mother. That is not what he has come here for.

Queen Frigga lays a gentle hand on her son’s back, never once questioning the existence of his odd outfit, not even his TVA-issued jacket. When Loki looks back up at his mother, he feels small - so impossibly small, even though he has throughout all these years grown to exceed even her in height.

“It’s alright, I’m here.” Frigga’s warm reassurance somehow manages to reach right to the depths of his very being. It reminds him of the times his mother used to say those very same words to soothe him as a child whenever he had woken abruptly from a nightmare.

“Mother,” Loki breathes out, having calmed down somewhat. He takes hold of his mother’s hand.

“What is it?” Frigga asks, an encouraging smile on her face.

“I… I missed you… very much so.” Before Loki had arrived, he had run through every single thing he could possibly think of to say to his mother. Now that he is once more in his mother’s arms the way he used to be years ago, he has completely forgotten what he had planned to say to her. Loki - nicknamed Silver Tongue in his youth for his ability to spin manipulative tales a hundred thousand yards long - is now only able to express his honest thoughts.

“As have I, Loki,” Frigga says, her loving smile never once wavering.

At long last, Loki manages a small smile, but his eyebrows quirk upwards again. “Mother, I am so sorry for everything I did that have saddened you.”

“You know I do not carry these grievances with me in my heart, my son,” Frigga reassured him.

Loki took another deep breath, and continued, “Please do believe me, that no matter what I have said in the past, I will never again deny that you are my mother, because I do love you.”

“I know, I know you do, just as I have always loved you.” Queen Frigga’s raises her hand to caress Loki’s saddened features. “Now though, can you smile a little? Just for me.”

Loki attempts a grin, but his eyes start to water again, resulting in an odd twist to his expression.

Upon seeing this, Frigga can’t help but chuckle, gathering Loki into her embrace. He buries his face in her hair, searing the smell of his mother’s perfume - which he remembers from his years growing up in Asgard but had all but forgotten - right into his memory.

“I love you, mother.”

Queen Frigga gently pats her son’s back in reply. Oh, how he wishes time would stop just like this, where he is neither a fallen prince nor a world-conquering minion, but instead, simply Frigga’s son.

Just then, a short ringtone makes itself known, sending Loki reeling right back to the present. Stiffly releasing himself from his mother’s embrace, Loki reaches into his pocket and silences the device.

He reluctantly looks back at his mother, who instinctively knows that this would be the last time she ever sees her son before his eventual departure.

“The dark elves… do not let them harm you,” Loki finally warns his mother, knowing that he cannot say nothing about it. Though he knows that his advice is going to ultimately be useless, and that Frigga knows that they will soon be marching right into Asgard itself, it does nothing to erase the fact that when the moment comes on the Sacred Timeline, her death will be an unavoidable inevitability. 

Queen Frigga nodded her head. “Do take care of yourself, Loki.”

“I will.” Loki pursed his lips, then opened them again, feeling the need to ask one final question. “Mother, are you…”

Are you proud of me?

Loki - knowing that he could never find the courage within himself to ask even this of his mother, whom he had hurt so many times over the years - could only shake his head.

As if though she can sense her son’s inner turmoil, Queen Frigga takes both of Loki’s hands in hers, and looks him in the eyes, her own brimming with impossible amounts of warmth and love.

“I will always and forever be proud of you, my son.”

His mother’s resolute words settling deep within him, Loki can’t help but shiver, letting gratitude, love, and an overwhelming sense of sadness wash over him.

“Thank you, it means a lot to me.” At long last, Loki slowly removes his hands from his mother’s, his fingers grazing hers as he goes.

Content with the expression she sees on Loki’s face, she nods her head once before turning around, heading back into the garden.

Watching his mother’s retreating figure, Loki knows with finality that no fiery funeral ship could ever hold a candle to his last goodbye with his mother, Queen Frigga.

-

The golden halo that is the Time Door appears and just as quickly disappears, like it has never once existed.

#mcu #mcu fan fiction #thor tdw #thor the dark world #loki #loki laufeyson #queen frigga #mama frigga #tva loki #loki fan fiction #frigga fan fiction #loki needs a hug #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #chinese to english #translation #family feels #loki series #loki season 1 #tempad #mcu time travel

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

Prince of Time

Time is a cruel mistress. It is a cruel one, if only for the fact it is something who has a hold on everyone’s hearts, as well as their minds. Out of all of the Aspects, Time is one that no one can ever truly rid themselves of in one form of it or another. Like the air all around us, the starry night sky, forever expansive and looming over us, the life that breathes through the soil in which we walk upon; the same soil which holds all who have already walked this world, and which will eventually hold us as well. Time is something that is always around us, no matter where we go or who we are with. Its reach is far and seemingly endless; a shadow in which none of us can ever truly escape from. Even the animals who walk upon and share this planet with us, and who hold no clocks, no documents, no true way to tell or keep track of time - even they eventually are taken away and buried in the sandy dunes in which our spirits travel through.

Time is a cruel mistress because it promises us tomorrow, yet at the same time it does not. Nothing is promised by Time, it is merely us who convince ourselves that it does. We convince ourselves that there will be a tomorrow, and that every single one that comes, we will stand alongside it. The sun will rise again, yes, but not everyone will rise with it. Time gives just as much as it takes away, though sometimes it can feel as though all it does is take, and take, and take - giving what it has taken to those far less worthy of whoever has been wronged. It is a neutral force in our lives, uncaring and never bending in one direction or another. It is uncaring, and although it itself does not lean one way or another, it is the people who are touched by this force - this Aspect - that are left with the responsibility of what to do with it. 

There will be those who manipulate it, changing it into a force that does bend, buckle, and break beneath their will, but there will also be those who mend it - who create and restore it in the places and people who lack it, bringing back what once was lost. Of course, there will be those who seek to protect it - to nurture it and keep its balance in the world it resides in. However, there are ultimately those who only wish to destroy it, for one reason or another. They see the wrongs that Time has brought upon not only themself, but everyone else in the world, and so they come to only view it as something to be hated and feared. Where there is fear, there is hatred. Where there is hatred, there is violence - destruction.

Enter the Prince of Time, someone who is often viewed as merely a stubborn mountain of a person. If there is one person you can most certainly not rely on to do anything in a timely manner, or even at all, it would be the Prince of Time. They are someone who finds themself always preferring to stay behind in adventures, much preferring to be indoors and perhaps even in bed while all of their friends and family urge them to come and join. Whenever given a task or assignment to do, the Prince may give a shrug or even give a promise that they will be sure to get it done. However, anyone who truly knows the Prince of Time knows that these promises rarely ever come to fruition. A Prince of Time is someone who most certainly goes at their own pace, though the exact reason as to why is something even the Prince themself rarely ever wishes to speak upon. For those who have known the Prince for years - specifically since they were a child - they will often find themselves wistfully looking back on the Prince’s life.

A long time ago, the Prince was someone who was just as active and heroic as their current friends and family. Some may even say that the Prince acted as though there was always fire under their feet, or maybe even in their soul. They always wanted to be the helper, the savior, the one who made the gloomy days brighter for everyone that they met. Once upon a time, the Prince wanted to make the world a better place for everyone. They believed they had all the time in the world to make things better for the people in their life. That belief of Time being something that lends itself to a child’s foolish dreams is something that would inevitably come crashing down on top of the Prince. For little did the young Prince realize that in a world so big, in a world that is always growing and evolving, it is something that doesn’t wait around for some random child with a whimsical, fantastical imagination. The world moves on, even when the Prince cannot keep up with it. The world does not stop spinning, the clock does not stop ticking, and eventually all the dreams the Prince once had slowly begin to wither away around them; much like the people in their life.

Indeed, loss is one of the biggest staples in their life. Loss, often showing itself in the form of some tragedy or another. For some Princes of Time, it will be their beloved childhood pet, while others may lose their home; physically, spiritually, or even metaphorically. For a large portion of them, however, their loss is that of another human - someone they looked up to with awe and wonder. Someone they may once have foolishly believed to be invincible to any harm, and the passage of time. It is this loss that the Prince begins to realize how often things are taken away from others, how many souls are lost in those blistering hot winds of Time. As a child, the Prince experienced a great loss and the grief that is soon to follow. When that grief did not so easily fade with time, the hands that once upheld them slowly began to withdraw back into the shadows until, ultimately, the Prince was left to deal with their feelings all on their own.

At least, in the eyes of the Prince, this is what happened. Whether this is true or not does depend on the specific Prince of Time, but many of them are prone to falling into these feelings of abandonment and betrayal by those around them. Their friends, their family, even people at their school or work. The grief never truly left the Prince, because it is something they lost the drive to resolve. Eventually, that dismantling of courage and energy caught up to the Prince, making them the person they are now. Passive, quiet, avoidant of any and all conflict, just a person who watches and observes rather than ever actually do anything. After all, no one was there for them when they needed help the most, so why should they help anyone in return? What’s the point in doing anything if Time is simply going to come and sweep everything away? Ever since that grand loss in their childhood, the Prince has been inadvertently avoiding - and destroying - the internal pieces of their Aspect more and more. Even now, if someone were to come along and offer care and support to the Prince, they’d most likely shove it away. They’ve taught themself that they are the only person who truly cares about them, and so will often try and destroy other people’s attempts to right what has been wrong until, inevitably, they leave the Prince. It is these small instances of destruction, these bouts of isolation and being trapped in their own thoughts, that the Prince will have their first taste of liberation from their Aspect.

The relationship between the Prince and their Aspect of Time is one of great stress and fluctuation. Nevertheless, the vast majority of these feelings are connected to negativity. A sense of betrayal, toleration, or downright fear and disgust. Not only has Time proven to the Prince that it does not care for them, but that it will take away whatever it wishes; leaving nothing but turmoil for the Prince themself in the process. If there is one thing the Prince grows to hate and perhaps even fear as they have grown older, it is that of change. More specifically, the onward progressive march that happens with the flow of time. Their childhood friends now becoming older and achieving their goals. A job, graduations, moving across the country, experiencing their own moments of loss and grief - everything keeps moving around the Prince, and they hate it. They hate it because, deep down, they are still that scared, lonely, confused and grieving child. Time has allowed everyone else to move forward, while the Prince has remained frozen to where they are for all of these years. All Time has done to them, and countless other people, is bring harm, stress, and suffering.

Time is what took away their friends from them, along with their role models and family. The ticking of the hands being a constant reminder that while the Prince is still here, those that truly matter to them are not. Living in such a frozen state of existence is what truly defines the life of a Prince, and it is often a self-inflicted issue; not that the Prince will ever admit to it. It is their own way of slowly, yet surely disconnecting themself from their Aspect - destroying it internally before ever even thinking of destroying it outwardly. As much as the regular concept of time is the one that moves everything forward, it is the Time-bound who feel that true heat to charge ahead of everyone else - clearing the path for those who may be lost or uncertain of what is to come tomorrow. Although the Prince of Time may once have felt that same heat, their blazing flames have slowly been reduced to smoldering coals and charred wood chips. Everyday that passes, a storm grows ever closer to the Prince; heavy with rain, and ready to allow its soft dam walls to shatter. The Prince does not attempt to protect their remaining fire from such a threat. No, they welcome its drowning. 

Much like how the Prince drowns themself in their own misery, they not only actively destroy their own Time - dismantling it piece by piece with every passing day - but eventually their efforts do reach other people around them. Cynicism, nihilism, pessimism: all these things are that in which mark the Prince of Time. Always asking questions, but never for the right reasons. Why bother helping out one person, when so many others are still suffering? What’s the point in putting in so much effort into helping others, when you might not even reap the seeds you have sown? Why bother doing anything when none of it will matter in the end? For many people, this will most certainly push them away from the Prince; perhaps even coming to despise their overall depressive presence in the room. The Prince makes people question themselves and their motives, as well as just how big their impact truly is. They make others think and ponder on their own life, though not in the best way possible. Oftentimes, it leads to the destruction of other people’s sense of Time - that fight to keep doing what is right, to help those who are suffering, and to be the hero amongst the commoners. Do not think for a moment that the Prince does not notice this, either.

As passive as the Prince of Time may seem in their day-to-day life, their destruction of their Aspect is one that lends themself to slipping further and further into their opposite. The Aspect of Space, in this case, is one that promises the Prince a far better outlet for all that they experience and feel. That outlet is creativity. Rather than fight back and keep that flame alive - righting what has been wrong in the Prince’s life - the Aspect of Space has given them a far more passive option that is to the Prince’s liking. Art is something the Prince of Time picks up at one point in their misery, or another. It may depend on what exactly this art is from Prince to Prince, but ultimately it is something they find comfort in. Even if their paintings by brush, or sketches by pen, or murals by spray paint exude tidal waves of misery. Even if the words of their short stories, or the vocabulary of their poems are bleak and melancholy; it is this creativity that brings them momentary peace. Being able to express themselves through a far more intimate, personal level - visually putting down their feelings to help them better understand what is happening with them - this is one of the biggest ways the Prince learns to cope with their misery. To them, it may feel as though that Space - the cosmos itself - is all that truly cares for the Prince.

Yet as high up in the stars the Prince may find themself to be, little do they know that the further they drift into that grand void, the further they detach themself from their friends. No one can hear you scream in space, but one cannot hear anything in such a vast vacuum of nothingness. The social life of the Prince is extremely enigmatic, for as much as the Prince may try to distance themself from others, and although they consistently spout the most disheartening, antagonist, and hurtful things at times, they still find themself with people who crave their company. Pesky friends who text them everyday, or once every week, always asking how they are doing and if they wish to hangout. No matter how much the Prince may try and discourage such behavior, they always come back - always promise to “try again” another day. The Prince always scoffs at such ignorance, because who is to say there ever will be another day? Tomorrow is not promised. When the Prince sometimes hopes that their next one is not, that is often when tensions rise the most amidst their friend group.

When the Prince begins to slip away from those who care from them, it’s often when they truly start their true path of destruction. That drive to keep going has always been a burden on them - the urge to solve the problems presented to them. All they want - and all they have wanted - is to let it go; to smother it until it stops squirming. Something that has only brought them consistent misery, pain, and turmoil for most of their life - is it so wrong to want to snuff out this all-consuming fire? A fire which, much like a beast in the tall grass, waits patiently and quietly for the right moment to strike. When it does, the Prince knows - they know that someone they love will be badly hurt, or even worse. Personally, they can’t bear to allow for it to happen - or to be there for when it does.

Even as their friends beg them not to, clinging to the Prince and dampening the rags they wear, the Prince themself can only ever ask the same question that they always do: why? Why try to save someone who was doomed from the start? Why waste so much time and energy into trying to pull someone out from their darkest, deepest trenches, when the other person clearly wishes to fall? Why not let them go, and move on - just like everyone else in the Prince’s life has already done?

It is this moment, this culmination of grief, confusion, and senses of betrayal that the Prince’s role in the group starts to form. They are to challenge the true strength of everyone’s bonds; for it is the Prince who brings others to come screaming and crying in their face. They are to challenge the motives of others; for it is the Prince who causes those to doubt themselves, their convictions, and what their real goal is - what they really want out of their actions. They are one who is destroy Time, within themself and others; for it is the Prince who believes themself to be the most ultimate victim of their Aspect, as well as the savior to those not yet touched by it. They are an anti-hero to their very core, and it is a title - a crown - that they will proudly wear.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown; yet heavier is the soul that sits upon the throne. All of which is to say that, as much as the Prince’s friends may try their hardest to keep them from falling over the edge, it is almost inevitable that they will have to watch their friend fall into the darkness of their despair. Yet no matter how much anyone screams at one another, or how much the Prince may berate and bore into their friends with their words, or how many clocks and timelines have been smashed by the very hands of the Prince - one thing is for certain across all versions of the Prince of Time. They simply want everything to stop hurting, as well as prevent others from being hurt. By any means necessary, they will do it; even if a few hearts and bones need to be broken along the way.

While the Prince is far from ever being as protective as a Knight, or even a Page, that desire to protect those around them and themself is still buried inside of the Prince. Perhaps to them, it is the only part of their Aspect they will ever miss. As for the rest of it, all they see is merely a tragedy waiting to happen, in one way or another. The urge - the drive - to try and attempt the impossible, to charge into battles, to instigate conflicts in an attempt to fix what has been broken, it is all childish rubbish in the eyes of the Prince. Conflict gets people nowhere other than hurt, or six feet beneath the surface. They have seen the closest friendships be torn apart by their Aspect, they have seen the most resilient souls crumble into dust, and they have experienced an excruciating pain that still seathes and burns against their skin to this very day. However, what truly sparks this outrage - this final decision to go and rid the universe of Time itself - is one any keen observers have been anticipating.

When something begins to grow, when pressure starts to build, it is often unwise to try and bottle it all up; to act like the threat isn’t growing. Unfortunately for the Prince, and all of their friends, a moment would come and prove to the Prince that their Aspect is nothing but a danger. As much as they may accidentally torment their friends and build conflict in their group, they are still someone who deeply loves and cares for every last one of them. That is why they have decided to go forth and rid the world - eventually the universe - of their Aspect. However, it is also why one of the people who the Prince holds closest will end up experiencing their own pain, suffering, and loss - much akin to how the Prince encountered their own.

One can only conclude that amidst all the tension rising in the group, and the Prince not being quick enough to destroy their Aspect, it is their dearest friend who suffers because of it. By the hands of a fellow teammate, no less, will this pain be inflicted. It will be this event that will act as a catalyst for everything that is to come; the smallest domino eventually building up to knocking over an entire mountain. As their friend weeps in their arms; battered, afraid, and confused, it would be inevitable that this would not be the only instance of violence in the group. However, deep down, the Prince of Time knew that it would be up to them - the antihero - to come and liberate not only themself, but all of their friends, as well, of the horrors that is their Aspect. They are tired of playing the pacifist.

There are numerous ways in which a Prince of Time may go about with destroying their Aspect - namely as to what version of their Aspect they wish to target. Princes in general are often those not meant to be trifled with, but it is often those aligned with Aspects which hold far more literal forms that should be feared the most. Although the Time Aspect has indeed been primarily shown to be that fighting urge - that protagonist mindset of wanting to fix all that is wrong and lift up what is right - it still is something that involves the very passage of time itself.

Imagine a world where there are no clocks, calendars, or even a sky to tell where the shadows fall. Imagine a world where time does not exist. That is a world that the Prince of Time can most definitely bring into existence if they truly wished to do so. However, such a thing is often done in the most extreme cases of a Prince of Time lashing out against their Aspect; more specifically, when they have not yet learned that there is good to their Aspect, much like how there is good in their power of destruction. Oftentimes, this extreme level of Time destruction is due to the Prince wanting to take control back over their life before oblivion envelopes them. Indeed, to destroy all of literal Time would surely mean the end of the Prince themself, as they would surely be destroying themself in the process. These Princes of Time are those who tend to lean towards acts of martyrdom; always willing to throw themselves in harm's way if it means proving a point - proving they aren’t weak, or afraid.

However, there is also the destruction of Time in its more metaphysical way; specifically, that drive to fix what is wrong. Of course, the Prince of Time is one who has been on this path of destruction for countless years. By making others doubt themselves and question what their true intents are, they have been eroding the fighting spirits of others around them. Now that another person who they hold close has been harmed because of Time, though, the Prince sees that there is no point in sitting and waiting for it all to slowly rust and fall away. Instead, the Prince now actively seeks out any and all instances of this fighting spirit in order to wipe it out. All they see in this spirit is brutalistic, mindless savagery - a war waiting to break out amongst the group. If anyone is going to put a stop to it, they are someone who is more than happy to step in and rid the group of this tension.

While this may sound far more beneficial to the group than anything else, that is only true for a certain pocket of time. Although they will greatly benefit from being snapped back to their senses, dropping their weapons and releasing their tension between one another, it will never truly be enough for the Prince. As long as there is Time, there will always be the risk - the threat - of such an outbreak happening again. This anxiety of conflict in their own little bubble is ultimately what drives the Prince of Time to such extreme lengths, and it is why their creative spirit will inevitably take a far more dangerous spin on itself. Indeed, the Prince of Time will fall into the creative mindset of a Space-bound, and it is a mindset they are most definitely certain to use for their own means and movements.

It is not just their art that can become the weapon for the Prince of Time, though. Their words alone can be just enough to continue keeping their friends in check, and their hostility kept low. When a friend comes to them with a problem, the Prince will always be the one to shrug and question why they even care so much. A petty problem such as this won’t matter in a few years, so why even bother to waste all this energy on it? Destruction from the Prince of Time is one often hidden beneath an act or gesture of love, care, and kindness; if only with hints of cynicism. Whether these gestures and acts are genuine or all part of one large facade depends on one’s perception of the Prince, as well as the Prince themself. They may say that they are simply looking out for their friend’s mental health, and their overall wellbeing, but anyone observant enough will soon see that the Prince is one of the last people to ever be giving advice on how to cope with the struggles of life.

Inevitably, this would come to catch up with not only themself, but the friends affected by their words, as well. All of the people touched by their words would eventually find themselves not wanting to do anything, to fix anything wrong in their life. Ranging from no longer having the drive to work, to staying in a horrific, toxic relationship that will always do more damage than good; much like the Prince’s attempts at destroying their Aspect. Even the Prince themself will become a mere shell of a person if they do not start their constant attack on their Aspect. With that drive gone to do anything, all they would be left with is the awareness that they caused this; they caused all that is wrong to continue festering. Festering until, finally, it fully comes and consumes not only the Prince, but all of their friends, as well; a cluster of seashells swept and hidden away in the sandy oceans of time. Ultimately, these Princes who complete their conquest on destroying their Aspect will suffer the fate they feared the most; Time, the cruel mistress it is, claiming them and their friends, just like it did all those years ago, and just like it will for the next millenia to come.

Life is something all about choices, but it is also all about the consequences to those choices. Alongside the Mind-bound, Time-bound are those who most certainly are aware of this factor in our everyday lives. Our lives, our selves, are much like that of a tree - all starting from the same seed, but branching off further and further away from our own true self the longer we exist. Eventually comes the question: am I the original sprout of this tree, or am I merely another off-shoot, dead end branch on this goliath of a tree that is my life? Such thoughts are often overwhelming, perhaps even existential - and it is exactly why these are thoughts that the Prince of Time often struggles with. Not only does their own hatred and mistrust for their Aspect bog them down from being as active as they could be, but it is the fear that their actions ultimately will not matter, that they could merely be another doomed branch fated to be snipped away from the tree.

Due to having been gifted this foreboding sense of dread with everything they do, it is these Princes of Time that will be the ones to come out on top - the ones who will not end up forgotten and buried in the sands of time. Although these Princes have already started their self and outward destruction of their Aspect, there will forever be the gnawing feeling of fear and anxiety as to whether what they are doing is the correct course of action. An internal battle of wishing to be liberated from the oppressive force of their Aspect, but also not wanting to become another failure - another fallen soldier - amidst an ocean of bodies that share the same face. They are the ones who often are flippant with their approach to life. One day they may seem utterly hopeless and withdrawn from fixing anything, being that day’s hero. Other days, they find themself to be easily riled up and ready to protect and fight for what they believe to be right.

What is a Prince without their subjects - or their kingdom - if not a fool who believes themself to be of higher importance and power than others? For the friends of this type of Prince of Time, it is ultimately their own duty to nurture such capricious behavior, as well as encourage the latter half of their lifestyle. They are the ones who must drag the Prince away from total annihilation - to be their anchor in a world constantly moving, and seemingly largely uncaring to them. Although the Prince may fight back against such attempts, often in a way that pushes them further into destroying their Aspect, it’ll be their friends that will pull them away from such a damning habit. For as much as the Prince may try to destroy their Aspect, the awareness of how much their decisions affect the timeline is something that will always be in the back of their mind. More importantly, the way their actions change the timeline for not only themself, but their friends, as well.

As long as their friends keep this battle up, and kept their precious Prince away from the siren song of the stars, then eventually there would come a breakthrough. A breakthrough in which the Prince would come to realize that they do not wish to destroy their Aspect - at least not fully. No, they wish to simply know that their actions matter in the grander scheme of things, and that they also merely want to keep everyone together - and alive. They believed that if they destroyed Time in any sense of their Aspect, then they could preserve their bonds with all of their friends. People would no longer have to grow up and move away, get too busy with their own problems to ignore the Prince, or have anymore fights break out amongst one another that could lead to more people getting hurt; or worse. All they wanted was to protect everyone, but so far all of their efforts have only ever done the opposite - and the Prince of Time realizes that now.

However much it may seem that the Prince and their friends are out of the woods now, that is still not entirely true. This is a moment of weakness - of vulnerability - from the Prince; a gesture that asks or even begs for forgiveness from the people they hold so close. A cry for help into the sky, where they wait, panicked and afraid for what the response will be. This is the moment that will determine whether the Prince of Time will truly be pulled out from the tar pit that threatens to swallow up not only the Prince, but everyone else, as well, or if they will be left to drift further away into the faux cosmos that promises to hold them oh-so closely. The Prince of Time is aware that all actions have consequences, and those consequences are what change the course of a timeline. What matters most is that their friends understand this, as well - well enough so as to avoid casting everyone, and everything, they know into a timeline of failure and obscurity.

It should be of no surprise that if the Prince of Time were to be shown distrust, and shunned away from the group for the actions they committed, then it will be that final push they need to fully become a Prince who only destroys their Aspect. Which is to say, the Prince of Time will see to it that such a timeline will become Doomed - fated to be forgotten and erased amidst the other hundreds of thousands branches upon this tree. However, for the Princes of Time who are forgiven, or at least given a second chance to prove themself to be a better person, they are the ones who will become the Princes who not only learn how to destroy through their Aspect, but also how to destroy their Aspect for the benefit of others rather than only themselves.

For a Prince to destroy through their Aspect, they must first learn the ins and outs of how their Aspect even functions. All its flaws, its strengths, its forms, and more - it is this knowledge of their Aspect that will allow for them to use it for its greatest potential as a weapon for destruction. However, much like everything else in the Prince’s journey, it will be their friends who will have to guide and teach their royal friend through this field of knowledge. There will be many moments of frustration, of course, as the Prince will still struggle to fully accept that their Aspect is something that can bring good for quite a good chunk of their Aspectual recovery. At times, the Prince will even show signs of slipping back into old, self-destructive habits. As long as their friends maintain respect, patience, and kindness with the Prince, then such large hills will eventually appear as small, nearly insignificant molehills along their path.

Of course, along the way, the Prince will practice their powers of being able to destroy through their Aspect. It will be faulty and weak at first, if only due to how damaged their Aspect has become. Early stages of these powers will often come in the form of the Prince targeting smaller pieces. For instance, they could cause a small patch of land, or even an entire object of relatively small size to degrade far quicker - as though it were aging rapidly. Another way in which these fledgling powers may show themselves is the Prince being able to hone in on their own fighting spirit, and using it as a type of power up to their energy and/or attacks. After all, to destroy through Time is not only to destroy things via the passage and flow of it, but also to destroy through the urge to battle and conquer the evils of the word.

Starting from a mere apple quickly rotting away through the Prince’s touch, they would eventually be able to reach out further and further - destroying bigger and bigger structures around them. Plants wither and die around them, while large buildings and civilizations rise and crumble into themselves. Now, that is not the only way in which a Prince of Time may destroy through the more literal part of their Aspect. After all, the Prince of Time is well aware that their actions have consequences - the ability to create and destroy a timeline with so much as a single word or action. With such awareness of how their reality works, then the Prince of Time is one who could use this feature as something to be exploited for not only themself, but for all of their friends and teammates, as well.

By destroying through their Aspect, the Prince of Time holds a grand possibility in their powers. With every branching timeline, so comes all of the offshoots and alternative selves to not only the Prince, but their friends and teammates, as well. The Prince of Time alone could use their destructive powers as a means of creating a one-person army - the Alpha version leading all of their Doomed Selves to their proper and heroic destinies of battling to protect their friends. A Time-bound of any Class capable of using Timelines to their benefit are often the ones who have shown peak mastery in the art of their Aspect; and the Prince is no different. As long as those branches continue to split and splinter away from one another, there will always be enough soldiers to come and back up the Prince and their team. To have such a power is one that could greatly help the team win against a boss, but it is also a power that could help to destroy other problems in their session.

Aside from Space-bound capable of molding their Aspect, it is often unheard of for one person to be in two places at once. The Prince of Time is well aware that they cannot do such a thing, though it is not something that entirely is an obstacle for them. If the Prince needs a certain series of incidents and situations to happen, they will be certain that such things happen by not only their own hands, but the hundreds of ghostly ones that can reach across timelines - across the branches - making it so that the Prince is technically capable of being in multiple places at once; at least, in regards to Time. Oftentimes, this is a power that takes extensive planning, experience, and confidence in order to execute with little to no problems. However, even when things seem to go south for the Prince, they have one last power that has proven to be a handy tool for the Prince and, of course, anyone else who can find a need or use for it.

The final power of the Prince is one that has already been touched upon, if only in the basis of a Doomed Timeline. The power to destroy their Aspect is indeed a double-edged power, but it is one that will forever call to the Prince - much like the opposing Aspect of Space. This time around, however, they have learned from the selfish love and fatal protection of their Doomed selves - they have seen the standstill misery that comes from going overboard with their destruction, and it is something they do not wish to inflict upon anyone else any longer. For these Princes of Time, they have learned to use this power of destruction as a means of cheating the clock rather than merely destroying it altogether. By destroying the far more literal version of Time, they manage to essentially create a frozen bubble of time for everyone within it. This is often used as a means of buying those inside of it time to get their affairs in order, whether it be Frog Breeding, or creating the ultimate attack strategy for an upcoming battle.

As long as there is Time to destroy, and goals put under pressure by the weight of deadlines, then the Prince will happily be sure to deepen this pocket of timeless existence for as long as they deem fit. Of course, everything has its drawbacks; for the Prince of Time, too much destruction of their Aspect will most certainly begin to have a negative effect on the Prince themself, as well as the eb and flow of Time itself. Timelines may become at risk of clashing with one another, or even crashing - intersecting - with each other. After all, the Prince is still destroying Time as an entire thing in that moment, even if their teammates see it as something that only directly affects their timeline. 

In a way, this continuous destruction of Time could also create a type of real life lag for everything in the world that they are in - or even a straight up glitch of reality entirely. When this pocket of empty Time ends, who is to say when, exactly, they will all end up? Will it be a few hours, days, perhaps even months? It is a power that not even the most skilled Princes of Time can ever truly perfect, if only because the consequences for it are often capricious and difficult to determine in that immediate moment. Nevertheless, the Prince has learned by now that no good comes with fretting over such things, nor is it fair to dump such existentialism of self and its relation with Time, and so they never bring such worries and troubles to their friends. Time can be a cruel mistress, but it is a mistress that the Prince wishes to be the only one stuck with its company. Too many tea parties with such a force can often lead to extensive amounts of fighting urges, and with the knowledge they have as to how to tame and destroy such a feeling, the Prince of Time is one who is ready and willing to make such a sacrifice of themself to their Aspect. For their friends - everything they do is for their friends.

As someone who started out merely wanting to forever wallow in their misery, the Prince of Time has made quite the extensive journey - whether they will admit it or not. They are a person who experienced loss at a young and vulnerable age, and for the longest time felt as though Time would only ever continue to take things away from them. Their friends, near and far, and family would eventually all seem to find their own ways to move on with life, seemingly having dropped any and all grief and remorse they once held. Everyone seemed to heal and continue on - the world continued to spin - except for the Prince. They felt frozen and trapped in their grief, pain, and suffering. So much so that they eventually convinced themself that it would be easier to not only turn towards destroying their Aspect - an action of ultimate self destruction - but that they would bring everyone else down with them. Rather than try to allow the healing touch of their friends to guide them to a better tomorrow, the Prince of Time convinced themself that so long as tomorrow never comes, things would be better.

Yet no matter how much the Prince tried to convince themself that this path of destruction was the correct one, an itching feeling always persisted in the back of their head. Is this truly the right thing - is there not another way, another method, to fix what has been broken? Inevitably, this itch would turn into something far more - far bigger - than they could eventually come to handle. That itch would be their Aspect fighting for its own life, but it would also be the own Prince knowing that to complete this path of destruction would mean locking away all of their friends, and themself, in an empty, doomed timeline. For the path they followed would only end in everyone they have ever known and loved being left as empty husks - husks in which felt no drive or desire to do anything, nevertheless complete an entire session that they all found themselves within. Even outside of sessions, though, the Prince of Time did prove themself to be someone of grand pessimism and/or cynicism. Poking holes into people and their own fighting spirits, deflating such a thing until it was all left empty and lifeless, the Princes of Time who stuck to this path would indeed succeed in bringing everyone down into their own tar pit of misery. Together they floated in misery, and together they drowned.

However, such a fate was not certain for the Prince of Time - and chances are they knew this. For the Princes who fought hard to break free from their prison of woe, it is a task that would most certainly never have been possible without the Prince accepting that this is not something they can do on their own. Years had gone by since they had ever taken the offer of help and comfort from others, as they had convinced themself that such a thing was no longer possible in the world they lived in; a world that continued to spin while they sank. They never wanted to attempt that climb back to the top, but instead only wished to bring the whole mountain, and all of its inhabitants down with them. It is only when the Prince realizes that for all this time that they have spent fighting and resisting, the real reason their friends ever wanted them to come back to them was because they needed the Prince. A kingdom is not a kingdom without their Prince, after all.

One of the biggest things the Prince would have to learn and accept about their reality was that just because the world had continued on moving, and their friends continued on living, didn’t mean they had abandoned the Prince. For it was their own belief that to stop being miserable would be to forget the people they lost, to disrespect what they gave to this world, that so greatly hindered the Prince’s chances of growing and developing their powers. The true powers of the Prince are that of destroying through their Aspect, rather than ridding themself and everyone else of it outright. Ultimately, the point of their powers for them to play that of a guardian - perhaps even a protector. Although they will never truly reach the exact level of protectiveness that Knights or Pages has, the Prince of Time is one who is meant to help maintain balance amidst not only their own group, but across the countless numbers of timelines, as well.

The futures of all who are associated with the Prince rests on their royal shoulders, and it is their utmost duty to make sure that everyone is ushered into the people they are meant to be. As much as the Prince of Time may care for their friends, and wish to protect them as best they can, there are unfortunately some plans made for those they love that will end in pain and suffering. It may seem unfair that the Prince be given such power, as well as these important roles of being the Judge, Jury, and, at times, the Executioner. However, it is these points in everyone's collective journey that will put the Prince and their relationship with their Aspect to the test. Will they be strong enough to put all of their trust into the flow of Time, or will they take matters into their own hands, altering the course in which they are sailing so as to avoid other people getting hurt? 

Of course, not every Prince will be strong enough to allow these hard times to befall their loved ones. Although they may be able to get away with one or two changes to the timeline, it is important that they best be careful lest they wish to meet an unfortunate game over; a game over in which they and their friends will once again be left to be consumed and buried by the blizzarding sand of Time. It should come of no surprise that for the Princes of Time who not only give their trust to their Aspect, but decide to work alongside it, as well, are the ones who always end up making the furthest. As for the Prince of Time who finds themself within the Alpha Timeline, it is not entirely certain as to whether they are one of the most dedicated and loyal Princes of Time when it comes to their Aspect and all it stands for, or if their accomplishment is all due to luck; being at the right place, and the right time.

When there is injustice in the group, or even the slightest hint of conflict, the Prince of Time is one who will have to make sure that no improper fights break out. As much as they are capable of destroying the literal parts of their Aspect, they are still just as capable of destroying that fighting spirit that rests inside everyone. However, for the betterment of others, the team, and the timeline, sometimes the Prince must come forth and be the mediator that the people need. They are not only willing to do such a task, but will also lay down the facts of what would happen if such a fight were to break out. After all, the Prince of Time’s most important weapon is their very own words - something so simple, and yet something so capable of calming even the most capricious and riled up of the Prince’s group.

They are a peacemaker at the end of the day, much like many other Classpects spoken of before. However, it is merely how they go about bringing this peace that helps to make them stand out. Although they are most certainly not Space-bound, the Prince of Time is aware that words can help to make things better, but also make things far worse. When it comes to taking action, sometimes people are far too blinded by their own emotions to even see such gestures of love and kindness. Where the Prince struggled before with their own bleary eyed misery, pushing away others and becoming far more like that of an antagonist than the antihero they believed themself to be, it is a barbed wired path they wish no one else to have to travel through. The scars are not worth it, and the people one drags along do not deserve the scars left behind. 

The Prince of Time realizes that now, and it is a pain that they will try their best to keep away from anyone else. Unfortunately, some things are inevitable, unavoidable, written in the stone and stars; if there is ever a tragic event that happens in the Prince’s presence, chances are it was something that was merely meant to be to begin with. Never think for a moment that it does not break the Prince’s heart just as much as anyone else's, however, for they are someone who must live knowing what is to come, and what they cannot change. Do not hold it against them, for they were merely doing what the stars and the cogs told them to do; even if it meant standing by and allowing harm to befall those they care for, or relationships to be tarnished.

The Prince of Time is one who brings peace, but they also someone who often finds themself to be at least one of three roles in situations of grand tension and conflict. They are the Judge, the one who knows and decides what action should be done to reprimand and discipline those who disrupted the peace. They are the Jury, the one who must observe all evidence presented to them and decide which party is innocent - the victim - and which is guilty - the criminal. Sometimes, they are the Executioner, the one who brings forth the appropriate and just punishment called forth by the people. No matter what role they play, when it comes to the Prince of Time, one who destroys through their drive to right what has been wronged, they are most certainly someone one does not wish to see at a hypothetical trial. Time is such a cruel mistress, and so, too, is the Prince of Time - if only when the need arises.

#Prince #Prince of Time #Homestuck #Hiveswap #Prince of Time Analysis #Time Aspect #Time

[danielleslegacy]

Soulmates || Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

MASTERLIST

Request: yes / no (but they are open always)

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Just a wedding fic, that no one asked for bahaha, but yes, wedding. 

Word Count: 2,404

Warnings: it is just fluff that is all, its tooth-rotting, you’ve been warned.

Pairing: fem!Reader insert x Spencer Reid

All writing is my own, so please don’t steal this. Also, I would appreciate any feedback/comments/requests! xx

*GIF IS NOT MINE SO CREDIT GOES TO THE OWNER*

I smooth my hands down the front of the laced front of my dress, casting my eyes back up to the mirror in front of me. Makeup done in such a beautiful way that my eyes pop, the soft blush that lays on my cheeks making me seem younger and more innocent than I am. Behind me I notice people walking into my dressing room. 

“Oh Y/n,” the voice of one Emily Prentiss says, causing me to turn to face her, “You look absolutely gorgeous.” 

My eyes flash over the girls quickly, their beautiful dresses, similar but not the same, adorning their bodies. My eyes fill with tears as I let out a soft laugh. “Thank you Em.” 

“That boy is going to die watching you walk down the aisle in that,” Penelope gushes, her own voice thick with unshed tears. The group lets out a laugh. 

“Thank you for being here,” I say, reaching my hands out to hold the sides on JJ and Penelope, as they are standing on the outside of Emily, “I just wish my parents were here too, you know?”

The girls nod, “They are here, Y/n, they’re always with you.” JJ says, giving my arm and encouraging squeeze. 

“Alright no crying missy, we’ve got a wedding to do,” Eemily says offering me a tissue, which I take and dab underneath my eyes softly. I let out a breath and turn back to the mirror, admiring my dress one last time, with a firm nod of my head, I turn to the dresser and pick up a bracelet. 

“I need some help with this part,” I confess, holding out the bracelet and my wrist to the girls, JJ takes it and clasps it. A multitude of pendants hang off it, each one for a different person in my life. 

“It’s beautiful, was it from boy wonder?” Penelope asks, obviously catching onto one of the charms on the bracelet, a silver book, it was tiny but it was there. 

I nod my head, a smile coming to my lips, “A wedding present, you guys are on here too.” I say gesturing to the four leaf clover. “The whole team is on here,” a small set of handcuffs on the other side of the clover, a reference to our job. “Mum and Dad too,” I say, finally pointing to the two angels. 

A soft knock at the door frame draws us out of our bubble, “Sorry to interrupt ladies, but it's time,” Hotch’s face is painted with guilt at having to pull us away. A wave of anxiety rushes over me, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came, and it’s replaced by pure excitement, excitement at the fact that it’s finally time to marry my soulmate. 

The girls slip out the door sending words of encouragement, and waves as they exited. 

“How do I look, boss?” I ask doing a twirl for Hotch, my dress spiraling around me. I stop back to face him and he has a wide, proud, grin on his face. He gives me a nod in response.

“You ready?” He asks, extending a hand out towards me, which I take readily. 

“Yes,” I put simply, it was an easy answer because yes, i am ready to marry Spencer, i am ready to start the rest of my life with the person that i cannot live without. We walk down a hallway in Rossi’s house and just before we walk out and into the garden, we stop. Rossi had offered his house as the venue once again, as it was practically assumed that after JJ’s wedding to Will that Spencer and I would inevitably marry here too. I’m not in view of the group yet, but I can see the garden, lit up in beautiful lights, and a few seats scattered around the yard. Lanterns litter the grass, like the scene from Tangled. A fairytale coming to life. 

The music begins, a classical wedding march, a giggle erupting from my chest. “In a few minutes I’m going to be married, Hotch,” I say as he opens the door for us to walk out of. 

“Yes, yes you are Y/n.”

We step out on the lawn and I feel everyone's eyes on me, but my eyes are only focused on the end of the aisle, only on Spencer. His beautiful all black suit makes him appear even taller than normal, and his hair is styled to perfection. His eyes shine with tears, and in that moment my refill again. I continue walking, my smile staying spread across my lips, and when I eventually meet the end of the isle, I give Hotch a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you Aaron,” I say softly. The kiss is returned and he places my hand in Spencer’s. 

“You have something truly magical,” He says, taking a step back to join the rest of our team. No, our family. For the first time I looked over all of their faces, all red and tear filled. 

From beside me Rossi clears his throat, “Welcome, Welcome everybody, we are all here today to celebrate the union of two beautiful people.”

My eyes gather with tears and I flick them up to Spencer’s, his own filled too. I squeeze his hands, my excitement evident on my face. 

“We have all watched these two souls find one another against all odds. I’m sure Spencer could tell you the odds of their meeting, and I asked him once, and he told me that day that it’s a 1 in 10,000 chance that he would meet his soulmate. To which I followed up by asking him, and she’s the one right, kid? The boy just nodded his head. Later that same week I asked Y/n if she believed in soulmates,” He lets out a little chuckle, “See what I did there? She didn’t really answer me, but she did look over at the doctor and smiled. I knew what she meant by that. I am by no means an expert on marriage or soulmates.” 

“Ain't that a fact,” Derek mutters from the small group, referencing the italian’s multiple divorces and we erupt into a fit of laughter. My shoulders shake with laughter and tears fall down my cheeks. Spencer’s eyes focus only on me, his own shining with tears, and I can tell that he knows that this is a memory that he will be looking over for years to come. His fingers dance along my wrists and connect with the bracelet. 

“What are you gonna do?” Rossi continues with a shrug once the group is quiet,”But as I was saying. I am no expert, but you don’t need to be to know that these two souls were made for one another. They share this deep and beautiful understanding of one another, their differences and similarities. The two truly complete one another. I am so lucky to have been able to watch your love blossom from an awkward mutual pining to what I see before me today. I am also honored to be able to marry you to one another. So without further ado, let’s get to the important part. You have both prepared vows, Y/n, you first.” 

I nod my head excitedly, my smile widening as if that was even possible, “So like Rossi, I also asked you the odds of us meeting, and I got the same answer. Only, I asked you after our first date, we had probably known each other for six months at that point, eating ice cream in my apartment while watching Hercules. And it was that day that I fell for you. You couldn’t just sit and watch the movie, you kept telling me facts about ancient greece and greeks gods and goddesses, and I knew that I only wanted to experience movies with you being able to tell me about them.” His eyes twinkle and a tear slips down his cheek, I raise my hand up to wipe it away, “That night I called my mum, and i told her that I had met the man I was going to marry,” My voice catches in my throat, “I told her all about you and how you made me feel and she told my dad, and they both instantly loved you, because i was happy and excited.” 

His finger toys with the bracelet on my wrist, tears streaking his face. “And Spence, if they had met you, I know that they would be all about me marrying you. So my vow to you is to always love and savour every moment we have together, and to never go to sleep angry, and to listen to you always. I also promise to take care of you and to love you forever.” 

Spencer unlinks a hand from mine holding up his pinky to which I link mine around it, letting out a watery laugh.

Tears fall from my eyes, when Spencer begins his own vows. 

“I am a man of science and logic and numbers and facts.” He begins, “When you start falling in love, your brain releases chemicals like vasopressin, adrenaline, dopamine, and oxytocin that light up your neural receptors and make you feel both pleasure and a euphoric sense of purpose. That’s the facts of what love is. And before you, that was an easy enough understanding. I had thought I knew what love felt like. But falling in love with you was unlike anything I have ever experienced before in my entire life. And it took me so incredibly long to figure out why. It’s because all logic went out the window. My first and last thought every day was of you, I worried about you constantly and I could not figure out why. But then I noticed that I just wanted to be around you all the time and I didn't want you away from me. And then I got it. Love, this was falling in love. All those other times in my life where i thought i was experiencing love were test drives in comparison to falling in love with you. So today I vow to you, to continually throw logic away and to love you with all of my being for as long as life permits it. And if the Buddists are right, then the meeting was actually 500 years in the making, and I promise to you that in 500 years I will find you again.”

“Oh Spence,” I whisper to no one by him, reaching up to try to wipe the tears off my cheeks. 

“This ceremony will not create a relationship that does not already exist between you. It is a symbol of how far you have come in these past few years. It is a symbol of the promises you will make to each other and continue growing stronger as individuals and as partners. No matter what challenges you face, no matter how much you succeed, you now succeed together. The love between you joins you now as one. Now for the exchanging of rings,” Rossi states, handing us each other's rings. 

"Y/n, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. As it encircles your finger, may it remind you always that you are surrounded by my enduring love," Spencer says softly, slipping it onto my fourth finger. 

"I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, my faith in our strength together, and my covenant to learn and grow with you,” I reply, sliding the plain gold band onto his fourth finger. 

Rossi clears his throat, “You two are officially the first members to marry within the BAU, you may now kiss.” 

My smile only widens, as my hands reach up to cup his face softly, and my lips press to his. I feel the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. From behind my closed eyelids I see a flash, but I take no notice lost in the kiss with my now husband. Our lips move against one another, he dips us down slowly yet romantically,, and once we pull apart I miss it, so I quickly press my lips to his and then move back. My smile permanently on my face. The others are clapping and hollering from around us. It is then that I finally notice the camera grasped in Penelope's hand and I’m already so grateful for the pictures that she must have been taking.

My eyes flick back to Spence, “We’re married.”

“Yes we are,” He grins, wrapping his arms around my waist and spinning me around. The group lets out a chorus of laughs and Rossi’s voice breaks through. “Now we eat.” 

We share a beautiful meal, some pasta that I assume Dave made and the conversation flows freely. 

“Remember when you called me on your way to your first date with Y/n?” Morgan teases, “You were so nervous that I actually debated calling an ambulance to make sure you didn’t have a heart attack.”

The group laughs once more and Spencer buries his head into the crook of my neck, clearly embarrassed, “Yeah, well I had reason to be.” 

“Oh wait, that reminds me,” JJ begins, “Y/n called me the day Spence finally asked her out, and you guys, I wish you had been able to hear the excitement in her voice. I know I’m a profiler, but you didn’t need to be to see that the girl was already crazy for him.” 

I let out a soft giggle, reminiscing on that day, and I bring up mine and Spencer's conjoined hands and press my lips to his. 

The soft sounds of Jason Mraz’s ‘I Won’t Give Up’ begins to chime through the air, I stand up, and pull Spencer along with me. 

“Dance with me?” I ask him, and he just nods in reply, pulling me in closer to him. One of his hands rests on my hip and the other encloses mine. I rest my head onto his chest, I can hear the stop patter of his heart beat, as we sway together. He unloops our fingers, and my arms wrap around his waist and his other hand falls in my hair, holding me as close as possible. I feel so protected by the man who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. 

~

TagList (let me know if you want to be tagged!) 

@saucybeeches​

#spence #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Reid #Criminal Minds AU #david rossi #aaron hotch hotchner #emily prentiss #jj #jennifer jareau #derek morgan x spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Spencer ried x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader

[dastardlydandelion]

medium luci

ao3 link

content warnings: homophobia, comphet, child abuse, abusive relationships

It’s rare that Susan and Neil have the same weekday off. Neil typically works five days a week and she three or four, depending who’s on staff, being that she’s only part-time. But he’d had a dentist appointment midmorning so he’d taken today off and decided to make his hours up by volunteering for a double next week.

Susan doesn’t typically care to spend any extra time alone with her husband. They have so little to talk about these days, now that he doesn’t try to butter her up or feed her honey sweet lies as much as he used to. Now that Neil doesn’t care to talk much at all unless ranting or complaining about the various things he doesn’t like, his son’s style of dress, women who sit with their legs open, cab drivers who don’t speak English. Susan doesn’t even remember the last time Neil had to take a cab but he has strong opinions on them nonetheless, and the list goes on and on.

He thankfully hasn’t done much of that today, however. He’d parked himself in front of the television after coming home from his appointment and simply nodded when Susan announced she was going out to garden. She only comes inside when she hears the phone ring and by the time she’s walking up the back steps, Neil’s already answered it.

She watches his expression change as he converses with whomever’s on the other end, nervousness fluttering in her chest as his eyes widen, then harden.

“I’ll be right there,” Neil concludes as he hangs up, turning those hard eyes onto Susan. “That was the school.”

“Oh dear…what’s Billy done this time?”

“Not Billy.” Neil shakes his head and Susan’s heart drops with the realization her husband isn’t just irritated but seething, knuckles blanched as his hands ball into tight fists. “Maxine. Did you know the Sinclairs have a girl around her age?”

“N-No, I didn’t. I’m not very familiar with them, Neil.” Susan never had much luck getting close to anyone anymore, not in the least because of Neil himself.

“Apparently Maxine is,” he declares icily. “A teacher caught her and the Sinclair girl fornicating under the bleachers.”

Susan’s heart turns to stone and sinks into her stomach.

No.

Please, no.

Neil has very strong opinions about sexuality in general and homosexual conduct in particular, and Susan can practically feel the outrage radiating from him. It crackles in the air like the promise of a lightning storm. Neil’s fists are still clenched and his posture goes taut like it always does before he explodes.

“W-Well,” Susan begins, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

She hates herself for what she is going to say. She says it anyway.

“Well, you know where she learned that kind of b-behavior from, don’t you?”

Because if Neil is going to explode, Susan can’t stop him. But she hopes she can at least encourage the worst of it away from Max. She watches Neil’s eyes flicker and knows they’re both remembering the day they came home early from the short vacation they’d taken for their fifth anniversary, a girl and a boy sneaking out of Billy’s bedroom window, neither particularly clothed. She watches the angry bulge of the vein pulsing in his neck and knows they’re both thinking of that short young fellow with the skateboard who worked at the used car lot during the day and spent his time with Billy during the night.

“Yes, I know exactly where she learned it from. I’m picking both of them up and we’re all going to have a family discussion.”

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Neil holds up his hand. “Stay here, Susan. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Neil has gun powder in his gaze and she dares not argue. She lowers her head and steps aside when he walks past to fetch the truck keys from the hook. He stomps down the steps and slams the backdoor shut behind him.

Susan watches through the window as he gets into the truck and pulls out of the driveway, feeling dreadfully ill. She doesn’t mean what she’d said, of course. There are a number of behaviors that Max has picked up from Billy, but that isn’t one of them. If anyone is to blame, Susan supposes it’s herself for passing it along intrinsically.

She has her own secret desires locked away within the chambers of her heart. Desire she dares not confront for her own sanity, for her own safety. She’s never acted on her wants, always chose to play private games of hide and seek with them in her head instead, those insidiously innocent wishes of hers. Never spoken aloud let alone pursued those urges that flush hot beneath her skin when she finds her eyes drawn to other women’s lips, hips, breasts.  

Susan gave it to Max and unlike her, Max is brash and bold and brave. God save her, Max does what she wants to do and doesn’t care what other people think. Susan would admire her for it if it didn’t scare her to death.

Because Neil does care what other people think. He cares very much. And Susan’s seen him annoyed with Max in the past. She’s seen him frustrated with Max, displeased, exasperated. But never has she seen the silent stirring of a reign of rage to come where Max is concerned, never has she known that particular look in Neil’s eye to be directed Max’s way. She can only hope—

Oh, it’s such a despicable thing to hope for. Susan has poison in her soul, she swears she must. But Billy isn’t remotely hers and Max very much is.

* * * 

Susan doesn’t know if it was actually her remark that spurred Neil to turn the blame on Billy or if this was the conclusion he would’ve come to anyway. Neil often blames Max’s mishaps and mischiefs on Billy. Billy being the older sibling meant to lead by example. Billy being the older brother, meant to keep his younger sister out of trouble to begin with.

Her remark or Neil’s default thought process, in any case, it’s Billy he’s glaring at in the living room. Angrily dictates that Billy take off his shirt, belt in hand. Susan grabs a very pale Max’s shoulders and begins to usher her down the hall.

“Where are you taking Maxine?”

Susan freezes, mouth going dry.

Neil’s looking their way now, brow arched, stern and skeptical.

“I-I—“

“She isn’t going to learn if she doesn’t watch, Susan,” he declares with no room for argument. “Bring her back.”

Susan swallows, hands tightening on Max’s shoulders. Something dies inside her when she turns her daughter around. She buries it silently as she’s buried so many other pieces before and avoids Max’s eyes boring into her as she marches her back to the living room. Neil motions for them to sit on the couch, sunlight glinting off the metal buckle. Billy doesn’t bother to disguise his disdain, glaring murder, nostrils flaring like an ornery bovine. Susan suspects he’ll pay for this too.

“Your behavior today was beyond inappropriate, Maxine,” Neil tells her coldly. “Unnatural, disgusting, absolutely unacceptable.”

Max squirms next to Susan, hands tucking under her thighs. She is stone faced but this close, Susan can feel her shaking.

“Now, I know it’s not all your fault. Big Brother here’s taught you—“

“I didn’t teach her shit!” Billy cuts him off, sharp and acidic. “I told her to steer clear from Sinclair, this isn’t on me!”

Neil punches his son in the stomach with all the affect of swatting a fly, once, twice. Susan flinches. Billy’s gasping, breath knocked out of him. He staggers and Neil viciously shoves him to the floor.

“She saw you with that faggot’s tongue down your throat, don’t think I don’t know! I know you, I know the kind of shit you think you can get away with behind my back!” Neil roars like thunder. “Well, now it’s my turn to teach her a thing or two! Pay attention, Maxine!”

Max stiffens beside her. She opens her mouth to protest and Susan grabs her arm, sinking her nails in. Startled, Max's eyes dart to her. Susan gives a tiny shake of the head, urging her not to speak. Max bends her elbow like a chicken wing and jerks her arm out of Susan’s grasp. Ire flares in her gaze but she holds her tongue. She does not challenge Neil as he begins beating Billy with the belt.

Susan can’t watch. She lowers her eyes to the floor. She can see the movement in the shadows, Neil’s rapid whipping of the improvised weapon and Billy’s form jolting with the blows. Susan shuts her eyes to the shadows but she can still hear it, thick, hard leather striking bare flesh.

“Don’t turn away, Maxine,” Neil barks at some point between the sounds of violence.

Billy doesn’t cry out. Eventually it’s over. Susan raises her head and cannot bear more than a glance at her stepson braced on his hands and knee. The belt now rests at Neil’s side and still, her stomach is churning.

“If there is ever a repeat of the conduct you displayed today, there will be consequences. Is that understood, Maxine?”

Max looks to Susan. Her eyes are wavering. Then they glean whatever it is they were searching for from Susan’s and harden.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Yes, what?”

Max clears her throat.

“Yes, sir,” she corrects, louder and clearer.

“Both of you to your rooms,” he commands. “I want both of you to reflect on your actions until it’s time for dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy answers this time, climbing to his feet in the corner of Susan’s eye. She remains on the couch as her daughter rises and plods down the hall, cheeks as red as the cherry atop a sundae. Flushed as red as the welts on Billy’s back that have Susan’s stomach in ropes even though she only spares a brief glance.

Neil sets the belt aside and plops down in his armchair. “Can you get me a beer, Susan?”

She nods and rises, quietly fetching one. Pops the tab and then passes it to him before she excuses herself. In times like this, Susan wants to leave more than anything. She wants to grab Max and take her far, far away. But she can’t imagine they would get anywhere, truly.

Neil controls the finances. Susan makes less money than he does and every cent she does earn inevitably winds up under Neil’s attentive purview. In a distant, ostensible kind of way Susan understands there are shelters for women in her situation. Shelters out there, somewhere…aren’t there? For her situation?

Neil hasn’t actually put his hands on her. Not yet. Not like what he just did to Billy. Hasn’t actually done so to Max, although the threat of that unfolded in the living room in a way that could not be more crystal clear. The threat alone feels like a fist to Susan, invisible fist clenched tight around her insides and squeezing so hard she's nauseous.  

Is the threat enough? Would Susan and Max be accepted on the basis of threats alone?

Provided she could ever find such a place to begin with. Susan doesn’t have the faintest clue of where to look for what feels more like a nebulous fantasy of a sanctuary than a tangible reality. A shimmering oasis in the desert. Even if she were to locate such a place, what if it were at full capacity?

What if she and Max got turned away?

That would mean choosing between being homeless or going back to Neil. Going back to Neil after a failed escape would certainly mean him making good on all those threats of his, the ones verbal and non. The examples explicit in his words and implicit in his actions. Above all, any failed escape would certainly ensure there would be no second escape.

Susan isn’t going anywhere. And neither is Max. The very notion is abstract and distorted, floating just out of reach in a gaussian blur of a wish. Their home isn’t a good home. But it is the home they have and so, Susan will simply have to do her best to make sure Max never does anything like this again. That Max never does anything to get Neil’s attention like that, nothing to stoke the coals always smoldering in his choleric soul. That as painful as it's sure to be, Max learns to keep certain parts of herself under lock and key.

When dinner is in the oven and Neil is engrossed in his program, Susan slips off to Max’s bedroom. She knocks quietly and lets herself in. Her throat knots up at the tear tracks on her daughter’s cheeks, far more gutting than the way she bristles as Susan steps closer, the sheer hurt in her eyes.

“What do you want?”

The same things as you, Susan thinks irresistibly. And I’d go after them too, if I didn’t know better.

“I’m sorry, Max.”

Max huffs and turns away. “Whatever.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not. You’re just like Neil, you think I’m disgusting,” Max spits, hiking her legs up on the bed and hugging her knees to her chest. “You think Billy’s disgusting too, you couldn’t even look at him.”

“No, I don’t…oh, Max.” Susan swallows and lowers herself to a sit beside her on the bed, gently placing a hand on her knee. She swallows her heartbreak when Max’s eyes flash as though the touch scalds her. “Neil and I disagree about many things. This is one of them.”

“Then why didn’t you say that?” The blaze in Max’s eyes dies down, voice softening to cinders. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Oh, he’s so much bigger than me, Max.” Susan sags with familiar defeat. “And I— I don’t think it’s wrong, you and this girl.”

“Lucy.”

“I’m sure Lucy is lovely,” leaves Susan’s lips, this fragile whisper she dares not tempt fate to speak above. “I could never think that you’re disgusting. But I’m just me, Max, and Neil is bigger, and the world…the world too, is so much bigger than I am. You can’t— never, ever in public.”

Max’s eyes widen. Susan shifts on the bed and moves her hands, finds both of Max’s and squeezes tight.

“You cannot be open with feelings like that. You can’t take girls to your school dances, you can’t kiss them where other people could see.”

Max lets out an angry growl even as her eyes well up.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I know.” She knows, oh, she knows, she’s never not choking on it.

Max chews her lip, scarlet and fuming. Susan halfway expects her daughter to headbutt her or holler right in her ear until she deafens. But after a moment it’s almost as if Max can decode all the things she cannot say because her hands twist under Susan’s and intertwine their fingers.

#my fic tag #susan hargrove #max mayfield #neil hargrove #billy hargrove #kinda an inversion of that one fandom trope #ig